Prince of Perisa: Fate of Heaven
by Lizzy Rebel
Summary: Farah’s been kidnapped by a mysterious Spartan woman, and the Prince is looking to rescue her and once again becomes involved with otherworldly plots. //SoT extension, FarahPrince. chapter 22 uploaded//
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** don't own it or everything would have gone differently

**Spoilers:** _Prince of __Persia__: Sands of Time_

**Author's Notes:** I finally managed to play it, after two years of it collecting dust. What was I waiting for? Dunno. Anyway, I was—like most people— pretty disappointed with the end. So I wrote a sequel heavy in Greek mythology because I don't know shit about Persian and India mythology and it's the summer… I'm not researching. No way. No how.

**Warnings:** no connection whatever _Warrior Within_. Mostly because I haven't played it. Secondly, because I heard Farah isn't in it and the Prince gets together with some sluty Empress of Time. But let's keep our fingers crossed for _Kindred Blades_, I hear Farah's in it and that the romance between her and the Prince might be renewed. Oh and the Empress person-woman-thing dies (yay!)

Story notes at the bottom.

**/Prince of Persia: The Fate of Heaven/**_

* * *

/Prologue/_

**"A word is dead  
****When it is said  
****Some say  
****I say it just  
****Begins to live  
****That day"  
**-Emily Dickinson, "VI. A Word"

* * *

"Just call me… _kakolukia_…"

For a long moment Farah couldn't think of anything to say to him. Then, during her speechlessness, the mysterious Prince made his escape down the tree.

Then she snapped out of her trance and rushed to the balcony, a thousand questions clogging her voice. _Who are you? How do you know my mother's magic word? Was that story… true…?_

But he was gone already, athletic body disappearing into the forests below her room. She stared after him for a long moment, her hand becoming outstretched in the process. Was she trying to recall him? Bring back so she could ask the proper questions?

_He shouldn't know… shouldn't know that word but he _does

She glanced down at the dagger she clutched tightly in her hand. Her fingers gripped the handle of the Dagger of Time so strongly that her knuckles became white around it. Slowly, purposely, she loosened her grip on it, allowing the blood to flow back into her tips.

It was possible that she could rewind time and bring the young man back. Farah's hands went even as far as to touch the tiny, silver button on the Dagger's handle. But then she stopped and held the tiny weapon away from her, as if to resist the temptation of it.

No matter how much she wished for the young man to come back, she couldn't use the Dagger of Time for a means to her ends. It was be… irresponsible and truthfully, she was afraid of its power. Something that could bend time to its will had much power… perhaps too much power. It would be dangerous to use it, even once.

The young man had used it though, hadn't he? That was what he said. And why else would he have it if, at one point, he had used it? There had been so much regret in his eyes when he had looked upon her, sadness in him when he had told her his fantastic story, that she believed the Dagger of Time had left its imprint on him.

It had to be returned to her father's treasure vault, Farah knew. She touched the pointed, narrow tip of the Dagger…

…A memory flashed in her mind. The Dagger covered in blood only… only it wasn't her blood. Whose blood was it?

Farah shook her head and backed away from the terrace, away from the man and her questions. There was an odd tingling to her lips, a feeling she couldn't place. Where had that come from? She didn't remember anything special happening to them recently but… they tingled as if they been caressed, kissed even.

"Ridiculous," she muttered to herself, as if to dispel the notion. If she had received a kiss she would have remembered it. Especially if it had been recently.

_Unless…_

She glanced down at the Dagger, her fingers once again touching the tiny, silver button on it. Was it her imagination or was it still warm from his fingers? What if he _had_ used to Dagger recently… and on her? What if he had erased a…

"Stop being foolish," she commanded herself, gnawing on her lip. Impossible. He couldn't have… could he? _No, of course not._

Erased kiss or no, the Dagger had to be returned to its resting place before her father found it missing. And he would be up soon. The rosy fingers of dawn were already slipping into her pristine and marble bedroom, light seeping between the trees, heralding a new day.

The thin white of her skirt flirted around her knees as she slipped from her bedroom and followed the intricate hallways of her palace. She had grown up among the twisting and twining hallways and whereas anyone else might become lost, she could navigate the palace in her sleep.

Within minutes she had slipped passed the guards and moved into her father's treasure vault. The Hourglass, housing the Sands of Time, glowed in the darkness of the vault. She approached it like a shy animal, almost afraid it would awaken and lash out at her in all its terrifying might.

The Dagger of Time was located at the top, above the Hourglass. She knew of the secret door that led to it. Other than that it seemed impossible to reach. How had the boy managed to get to it?

A small shake of her head had the thoughts dissolving. Farah placed the Dagger back on its pedestal, watching as it glowed with a silver hue. For a long moment she stared at it, transfixed.

Then she turned and hurried from the treasure vault. She had to be back in her bed before her handmaid came in to help her dress for the day. Farah didn't think she could handle answering questions.

Especially when she didn't have the answers.

When she entered her home she was half surprised to find the young man wasn't there. It had been wistful thinking, but she had hoped he would come back to her. She could imagine it all…

…He would come into her room with a small, so sure of himself in a foreign place and say he had changed his mind and would like the Dagger of Time back, if she pleased. Of course, Farah wouldn't give it to him and he would just find a way to steal it, like he had before, and she would have no choice but to follow…

Farah lowered herself onto her soft bed, smiling soft, dreamily. Nice thoughts… but completely foolish. Perhaps she _was_ a child, to be thinking about such nonsense.

But there was no denying the tingling sensation of her lips. They had been kissed and nothing would convince them otherwise, even if her experience with such things were minimal.

She hadn't realized how tired she was. It shouldn't have surprised her—after spending almost an entire night with the mysterious Persian—but it did.

When she fell asleep her fingers were resting lightly on her lips.

**(TBC)**

-

**Story notes:** er… well… there _are_ none. Anything about history and myths I use in the story go here. So there'll be some stuff later. Just not now. I know it's a boring prologue, but deal with it. Things get better. Promise. I hope.

**Next Chapter Preview:**

_"Now, Lord Rashym…" her father began. "We should—"_

_There was a commotion. Farah blinked as her father's strong arm wrapped around her elbow and pulled her back toward him. Guards rushed into the throne room, their armor black against the bright sunlight._

_"We under attack!" one of guards shouted at her father. Then an arrow ripped into the flesh on his neck, blood pooling along the pristine floor._

_Farah stared at the red as it consumed the black, transfixed. Then she looked up as the fresh crop of screams filled the air…_

_…As her world gave way to chaos Farah found herself focusing on the hair, transfixed by it. Who had such color in their hair? People died around her and she focused on the bright hair against pale skin._

_"Who are you?" Rashym demanded as his sword clashed with the woman's. "What do you want? The gold, the treasure…?"_

_"Stand down," the woman ordered coldly. "I have no fight with you, king. Surrender now and I'll let you live." She swung her right blade to the left and Rashym blocked it. Farah had the impression that she was just toying with him._

_"You won't leave here alive," Rashym promised. He thrust forward but she spun away._

_"Fine then," the woman replied and feigned an attack to the right. Rashym tried to block and as he did, the woman brought her left sword up._

_It caught in Rashym's stomach and she yanked it back. Blood spilled onto the white floor as Rashym collapsed, hand outstretched in some helpless plea to live. The gods did not hear him as he ribs closed over his lungs and he fell to the floor, his life ended. The woman stepped over him._

_"Farah!" her father cried and shook her. Farah was drawn into his eyes. Her eyes. She had the same color eyes as him. Farah couldn't' seem to focus on his words. "Run. You must run."_


	2. The Kidnapping

**Disclaimer:** I don't own PoP: SoT

**Spoilers:** same as before

**Author's Notes:** wow, that came out fast. I just wanted to get chapter one out so everyone can see where the story is heading. The Prologue wasn't enough, I thought. Especially when everything else takes place two years later.

**Warnings:** there is some blood. Oh, and I've never claimed to be good at writing battle scenes...

* * *

_/Chapter One: The Kidnapping/_

**"Music hath charms to soothe a savage beast,  
****To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.  
****I've read that things inanimate have moved  
****And, as with living souls, have been informed,  
****By magic numbers and persuasive sound."  
**-William Congreve, "The Mourning Bride"

* * *

Two years later…

_"You had the Dagger in your hand! Why did you hesitate? Why did I trust you? …Why didn't you trust me?"_

_"I just don't like closed places, that all…"_

_"When I was small, my mother taught me a secret word. She said that when I was afraid all I would have to do was speak that word and a magick door would open… I never told anyone that before…"_

_"I can see why, that's the most ridiculous thing I ever heard… what was the word?"_

_"Kakolukia…"_

_"Kakolukia? You did that, didn't you…? Farah…?"_

Farah woke from her dream with a small moan. Then, as the bright gold of dawn hit her dark eyes, she rolled away. The lingering presence of the dream remained on her skin and, as much as she hated to admit it, it left her feeling achingly wonderful.

It had been about that boy. Again. About the young man who had come to her balcony that night and revealed her to the treacherous vizier.

Her father had accepted her story of the vizier's betrayal and his succumb to the disease in his lungs after he had come into her room to kill her. Persia had not invaded, like the man had promised, and for two years India received not a word from the neighboring nation.

That should have been it. Farah should never have put another second's thought on the young man. And yet… he haunted her dreams. Her head was filled with him, half-formed images of kissing and arguments and the Dagger of Time.

And death… sometimes she saw his face etched in pain, a look wild desperation in his eyes. Then her name was on his lips as he become farther and farther away.

Like she did every morning, she shook her head and the images left her. They would return tonight, but for now she would have a day free of them, of him.

She dressed herself in a thin skirt of plain white and a belly shirt beaded with golden sequence. With slow careful motions, she placed wide golden bracelets on her ankles and thinner ones on her wrist. And like every morning, she touched the shining scarab necklace around her throat. It was her mother's necklace, given to her on the day the queen departed the world forever, leaving a devastated husband and a weeping child in her wake.

A tiny, dark-skinned maid was coming into her room just as Farah went to exit it. She doubled back in surprise and then squeaked, her small, dark, and thin hands pressing against her heaving bosom. "M—my Princess! You're up early."

"I couldn't sleep," Farah answered with a small frown. It wasn't the dreams that had keep her from her rest—in all actuality, it was the dreams that drowned her in sleep, dragging her to the depths of her mind and refusing to relinquish her.

It was the knowledge of what the day brought. The coming of the dawn did not symbolize, as it had before, the promise of a new day but the entrapment her life would become.

"Well, I suppose you dressed yourself fine enough," the maid said as she went about fixing Farah's bed. Farah watched her with a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. She looked around at the room weakly.

_She's been taking care of me for four years I don't even know her name…_

It had never bothered her before. There were many slaves and servants in the palace, and Farah often had a new one. This dark-skinned girl had remained with her because of her neat proficiency and her ability to raise Farah in the morning, a task once thought impossible. It wasn't a fairy tale friendship. There was no friendship. They were simply two people who were forced to remain in each other's company.

But still… Farah suddenly felt very, very selfish.

"What's your name?" she asked before she had thought better of it. It was an awkward question to ask. She had known this girl impersonally for four years and only now was she just asking for a name.

The tiny maid gave a small jolt, as if the question physically shocked her. Then with a meek smile, glanced at Farah. "Wh—why Rosalind, princess."

"Rosalind," Farah tested the name on her tongue and found it had an odd flavor. "I've never heard a name like it before. Where do you come from?"

"Well, I am from Carthage, my princess. Given to your father as goodwill between the kingdoms," Rosalind admitted as she touched her dark skin. It wasn't black, but it was close to it. "My family are truly Spaniards, but I was born and raised in Carthage until I was thirteen."

"I never knew that…" Farah said as her head lowered slightly. _No. I am a princess. I will not feel regret for my carelessness._ "I'm sorry I never thought to ask." She couldn't stop herself from saying it. At her heart she was a kind person and, despite the chastising of her father, tried to be friendly with everyone in the palace.

"Think nothing of it. I know nothing of you save you're the woman I serve," the maid answered with a comforting smile. "We do our duties, Princess Farah, nothing more nothing less." Then she turned back to her cleaning.

Farah felt oddly unpleased with the answer but didn't press the maid. She sat down at her vanity in the corner of her room and went about placing her hair into a small ponytail at the base of her neck.

There was a soft knock at her door and Rosalind went to answer it without a word. She opened the door and peered around the corner. Then she turned back to Farah. "My Princess, good news."

With a soft sigh, Farah placed down her brush. "What is it?" She knew it wasn't going to be good news, no matter what Rosalind believed. She knew what road in on the wings of the morning and she dreaded it deep down in her heart.

"His Highness, Lord Rashym, has arrived." Rosalind's face broke out into a wide grin, her white teeth clashing with her tanned skin. She seemed to miss the dejected look on her young princess's face.

"That's…" Farah paused, searching for the right word. But what word could she use? "Good…"

"Isn't it exciting?" Rosalind demanded with a wide smile, taking no note of the way Farah's features fell. "He's a kind, good man, Lord Rashym. I hear that his lands have never fared better since he's been under command."

"Yes," Farah agreed softly, her voice sounding far and distant. Weak, even. Her fingers clutched her brush. "He is a good man… I will be… happy…"

Why did it sound like a lie on her tongue? Why did it have a sour taste?

--&--

The palace of the maharajah of India was surrounded by trees and woodland. But even then it was not hidden. The path to the palace and the city surrounding it was well known to everyone.

"You think they would try to hide it a little better, ya?" a man with a long, black beard said as he flicked the tip of the coarse, dark hair. "Took us weeks to find Shangri-La, and then we couldn't get in…"

"She don't know nothing about it," a younger man reminded as he hit the bearded man on the arm. "Remember? Picked her up in Thessaly."

She crossed her arms over her papyrus-thin chiton, keeping her dark eyes focused on the flat towers of the Indian castle. The strong, thick branch she propped herself up on was feet above the ground, the men sitting around the tree.

"Don't talk none either," one of the men said, a middle-aged man with a bulging stomach.

The youngest, and best looking, elbowed the middle-aged man. "Quiet. Don't talk about her like that. You know who she works for. _He'll_ kill us."

"We ain't in Greece no more," the bearded man snapped and took a long swig of his ale, held in a brown, glass container hooked in the belt on his thigh. "He got no call over us until we get back and _she_ won't talk about it."

"Still. I seen her fight before," the youngest replied and bit his thumbnail, pulling the white away from the piece of his skin. "Don't want her against me, that's for sure."

Their voices faded from her ears. She kept her eyes focused on the palace. She calculated every angle, every escape and entrance root. All the traps. For two weeks she had been spying on the Indian palace.

Two guards would be on duty in the back halls while four would be marching the main. Most would be assembled in the royal throne room, where the maharajah would be greeting his guest. The esteemed Rashym Torluiz, king of a fertile land a week's journey from the palace.

The man who would become the maharajah's son-in-law.

A little boy was making his way through the woods, running as fast as his food-deprived legs would carry him. She tilted her head and leaped to ground, her leather sandals sliding into dirt from the sodden ground. It had rained yesterday and the men had moaned about it. She had ignored them all.

"The Lord… Lord Rashym has arrived," the boy rasped, bending down and touching his knees. "He'll… he'll be in the palace in ten minutes…"

"Good," she said and handed the boy over ten silver coins. She watched as he hungrily, the boy licking his lips, imaged what it could buy. "Leave." Without needing further encouragement, the boy ran from them, disappearing into the forest.

"Lucky we found the boy. Always nice to have an insider," one of men said and the others snickered.

"We move," she replied and didn't wait for a reply. She raced along the ground. Her sandals were unfit for traveling in the forest. They were designed for dust and dirt. Not the desert, but the unforgiving ground of dead land.

Mud caked the spaces between her toes and she knew her face was crusted from the dirt where she had slept the previous night. But she didn't care.

The palace was impressive, but it was lost on her. She swung herself up a tree and motioned for the men behind her to halt.

From their sheaths on her back she withdrew two curved sword. They were not customary in her homeland, but their lightness made them ideal with duel wielding and so she had trained herself with them until she was unmatched.

"On my mark…" she muttered.

--&--

Because she had been the only daughter—the only child—of the maharajah Farah had been spared from an early arranged marriage. Her father had doted upon her and her mother had spoiled her. Marriage had been a distant nightmare that only pressed against her mind when it was spoken of at the dinner table.

But now she was nineteen and bordering on becoming a spinster. Luckily, her father had said, since she was beautiful there had been no worry of marriage for her, even now. Lord Rashym had been the kindest, gentlest, and richest lord to seek out her hand.

Farah knew it was her duty to meekly take the marriage and become a dutiful wife. But she couldn't help but want to scream and kick and pull at her hair. She wanted to turn on her heel and run far away, as far as her legs would take her, down to—

Rosalind had a hand on her arm as she guided her princess down the hallways toward the throne room where Farah would meet her husband-to-be. The woman was talking but her words were incoherent. Farah wanted to press her hands to her ears so the world would stop spinning.

They came to the doors of the throne room. Rosalind released her arm and Farah almost grabbed her and begged her not to go. The tiny maid walked into the room and Farah waited for her entrance to be announced.

"—Farah," she caught in Rosalind's deeply accented voice.

Her feet moved on their own accord, taking the first strenuous step into the room. Light reflected and bounced along the marble floors and blinded her. She moved based on her previous knowledge of the room, toward the place where her father would sit.

Unbidden, her eyes focused to the light. She wanted to go on without seeing, her world cast in a brilliant, too bright light so she could go one pretending this wasn't happening. Her father smiled at her and held out his hand. She reached out and took it, the only anchor she had in the tidal wave her world had become. But it felt like she would loose that soon. It felt like her father was already letting her go.

_No, Father!_ her mind protested even though her lips wouldn't speak the words. A thousand emotions bubbled in her throat and choked her, threatening to spew out, but she couldn't speak any of them. _Please don't—_

"My dear," her father said as he leaned in to kiss her cheek, his beard scrapping her cheek. The feeling of his lips on her smooth cheek burned and made her want to weep with fear. "Turn and face your husband."

She did, but she didn't look at him. She tried to look somewhere beyond him. Her fingers gripped each other until the point of scaring behind her back. It was almost too easy to focus on the bright, glass ceiling and tell herself she didn't notice her husband. Didn't notice his pepper-and-salt beard and the thick wrinkles around his eyes and his mouth. Didn't notice the hungry way he watched her. Didn't notice him.

Lord Rashym was a good, kind man. Yes, that was true. But he was also old enough to be Farah's father. And it made her shudder to think that it was this man who would be touching her, whose children she would bare, whose face she would see every morning. The man she would be married to…

_It's my duty,_ she told herself but it only made her stomach sicker.

The man approached her and took her hand. Had she offered it? Farah stared down and realized her father had given it to the man. Her father had willing given her hand away. That hurt more than anything else.

"My princess Farah…" Rashym said as he lowered his lips to the back of her hand. They were dry, Farah thought, or was that just her? "You grow lovelier every time I see you."

How long had it been since Rashym had visited her last? Two weeks didn't sound right. More than that. Two months? Yes, she thought it had been two months since Rashym had come. That was the first time she had known he would become her husband.

"Thank you," she heard herself say in a distant place. _What's going on? This isn't me._ The normal Farah wouldn't have a problem finding her voice. Where had that girl gone? She wanted to bury this new Farah that had somehow covered her old self.

"Now, Lord Rashym…" her father began. "We should—"

There was a commotion. Farah blinked as her father's strong arm wrapped around her elbow and pulled her back toward him. Guards rushed into the throne room, their armor black against the bright sunlight.

"We're under attack!" one of guards shouted at her father. Then an arrow ripped into the flesh on his neck, blood pooling along the pristine floor.

Farah stared at the red as it consumed the black, transfixed. Then she looked up as the screams filled the air.

Men rushed into the room, clothed in rags. They mostly had knives but their skills outmatched the Indian soldiers and one by one they all fell. Farah sought out Rashym in a daze.

A woman stood beside him, older than her by more than ten years, with two curved scimitars in her hands. She wore a thin, short dress Farah had never seen before that barely reached her mid-thighs. It was thin enough so the outline of her curves and breasts could be seen. She was tall, almost six feet, with generous curves and skin paler than any Farah had ever seen.

The woman had eyes with a dark deep color, bordering on cobalt. Her hair was a bright, vibrant gold color, with highlights of silver. It was cut short around her chin and had wiry curls. Farah had never seen the color in hair before.

As her world gave way to chaos Farah found herself focusing on the hair, transfixed by it. Who had such color in their hair? People died around her and she focused it on the bright hair against pale skin.

"Who are you?" Rashym demanded as his sword clashed with the woman's. "What do you want? The gold, the treasure…?"

"Stand down," the woman ordered coldly. "I have no fight with you, king. Surrender now and I'll let you live." She swung her right blade to the left and Rashym blocked it. Farah had the impression that she was just toying with him.

"You won't leave here alive," Rashym promised. He thrust forward but she spun away.

"Fine then," the woman replied and feigned an attack to the right. Rashym tried to block and as he did, the woman brought her left sword up.

It caught in Rashym's stomach and she yanked it back. Blood spilled onto the white floor as Rashym collapsed, hand outstretched in some helpless plea to live. The gods did not hear him as he ribs closed over his lungs and he fell to the floor, his life ended. The woman stepped over him.

"Farah!" her father cried and shook her. Farah was drawn into his eyes. Her eyes. She had the same color eyes as him. She couldn't seem to focus on his words. "Run. You must run."

It was like being snapped from a trance. Farah gasped and pulled away. "Come on, Father! We have to run."

"No." The maharajah pulled his arm from his daughter's gasp. He pushed her. "Go into the treasure vault, get the Dagger of Time. Run, escape here."

Tears ran down her face but Farah turned and fled the throne room, praying that her father lived.

_Have to get to the treasure vault… the Dagger of Time…_ even as she thought it a body crashed into hers. Farah bit back a scream and wheeled around as hands reached out to keep her pushed against the ground.

"Now, no squirming, you here?" a strong, male voice commanded. "Things'll go easier for you if you do, highness."

Her leg shot at from nowhere, catching the man in his gut. He groaned in pain and she grabbed his face and clawed it. As he howled in pain and she kicked him away. He rolled onto the floor and moaned. Farah pushed herself to her feet and continued to run.

Rosalind collapsed onto her just as Farah turned a corner. "Princess… run…" An arrow perturbed from her back and warm blood flowed down from her chest. Farah gasped. "They're… they're… _everywhere_…"

There was nothing she could do for Rosalind. She fell against Farah's chest and sucked in one last breath before she died. Farah released her body and cried without realizing it. Then she continued to run again.

In a black blur, in a mixing of grim colors—deep red, black, gray, brown—the hallways whizzed by her. She moved without thinking, her limbs moving without the workings of her brain.

_Get to the vault… get the Dagger of Time… Father…_ the thoughts looped in her head again and again, pushing out all other ones. All around her there were screams, battle cries, children weeping for their mothers and fathers. Farah choked on her own scream but she couldn't stop moving.

Then she was there. Farah gasped in surprise as her hands reached out to stop herself from crashing against a wall. How had she gotten here so fast? She didn't remember finding her way down to the treasure vault, she didn't remember slipping into the crack, she didn't remember walking to the pedestal that housed the Dagger of Time.

But she was here and somehow her hand had managed to grip to handle of the Dagger. Magick vibrated up her arm, made her skin tingle. She pressed it to her chest as if to silence the power. It glowed like a beacon against her smooth skin, burning magick, making a small imprint on her flesh.

She turned to make her escape when someone grabbed her arm. A scream managed to break past the barriers that had lodged in her throat as she wheeled around, swinging the Dagger to attack.

Something hard connected with the back of her skull. As her world erupted into bright stars and wild pain she found herself staring into the dark eyes, the endless pools of onyx. Her world gave way to darkness and she fell into those pools…

Drowning…

--&--

The girl's body hit the ground, a resounding slap when her skin connected with the hard stone floor. The woman bent down and touched the back of her skull, where the butt of her hilt had driven her into unconsciousness.

_No blood…_ the woman thought as she withdrew her hands the dark, silky hair that capped the princess's head. _Good._ It wouldn't do to give the princess a concussion.

"That her?" the bearded man demanded. When she was not with them, he was the unquestionable leader. His powerful muscles rippled beneath the rips of his worn tunic and pants.

Her fingers skimmed down the tanned, smooth column of the princess's throat. They stopped when the cool feel of metal greeted them. The necklace the young woman wore glowed with its own power, an ancient power that hinted at magick deeper than anything ever imagined.

"Yes, it's her," she answered. "Pick her up. Gently. We aren't getting paid to harm her." She wasn't getting paid at all, but they didn't need to know that. As far as they knew she was just a sword for hire, like they were.

"Hera damn her," one of the men muttered as he bent down to grab her arm. With one hand he gripped his nose, a small trickle of blood seeping between his fingers. "Princess kicked my nose in."

"No worries, Ratscrew, yar nose been kicked in plenty of times," the youngest man said.

Though she didn't say it, the woman thought when someone had a name like 'Ratscrew' he deserved to have his nose kicked in a few times. _Probably an improvement_, she thought.

"I'll carry her," she snapped, sensing that these men weren't to be trusted with the safety, and virtue, of a princess. She bent down and lifted the young woman—Farah was her name, wasn't it?—almost surprised at her lightness.

With the princess hanging over her shoulder, the woman's head inclined at the spot where the princess had drifted into unconsciousness. A dagger was there, a strangely growing dagger.

She bent down and picked it up, almost dropping it in surprise as the magick traveled up her arm. This dagger—this glowing, deadly dagger—was endowed with power, maybe too much power. Before anyone could question her, she tucked the dagger into the thin, leather strap around her white chiton.

"We move," she ordered curtly.

**(TBC)**

* * *

**Story notes:** the only official stories notes here are that, yes, the chiton is the actual clothing for Spartan women. Believe it or not, Sparta was the only place were women wore that type of clothing. In most places women had to wear long tunics and shifts. 

**Reviews:**

**vadersangel123:** you know, that's what my friend told me. She was playing it and by the time she was done she was ready to throw it again the wall—something about poor storyline, weak gameplay, glitches, and damn sluts—so I decided I didn't want to try it. Hopefully, _Kindred Blades_ won't be so disappointing.

**Joker:** oh, don't worry. There will be. In fact, the entire point of this fic is to get the Prince and Farah together. XD

**Specter Von Baren:** I was planning on making her Shahdee—she's the 'you bitch' person, right?—but then since I didn't know her character at all I decided to stay completely away from anything WW related. And I do hope this is long enough for you. Sure, it doesn't compare to Jak IV chapters, but that story never gets updated because it takes so long!

**Next Chapter Preview:**

_With a laugh, the woman gave it back. "Don't worry about it, son. It's on the house."_

_"Thank you," the young man said, his voice strongly accented. It had an odd, regal tone to it. Highly educated, the woman thought with a sniff._

_"You ain't from these parts, are ya?" she asked as her voice deepened. The young man shrugged. "I can tell. Don't hold yarself like the others around here. So then, my son, where do ya hail from?" At ease with herself, and know she was on her break, she sat down at the table._

_"Across the sea," the man answered and she gave a hearty laugh when he offered nothing else._

_"Thought show. You got that look upon ye. So why are you—" the door opened once more and the woman glanced up as the figure entered…_

_…"Do you really think the gods are angry?" the young man questioned._

_"Well, I work in the Thessalonian palace as a maid there. And well… I heard rumors." The old woman leaned closer to the boy, as if afraid someone would overhear. "There is news from __Sparta__. They're moving against the kingdoms across the sea. I hear that the young king of __Sparta__ has just ordered the kidnapping of an Indian princess."_

_If the woman noticed the change in the young man she didn't say anything. His hand gripped the edge of the table, his nail digging into the wood. "What princess? Do you know?"_

_"Hmm… let me think… a maharajah's daughter, I know that. Far… Farah? Yes, I think he name was Fara—where are you going?" the old woman demanded as the young man got to his feet._

_"I have to go," was all he answered._

_"Well of course you do!" the old woman laughed and slapped her knee…_


	3. The Gods Are Angry

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the _Prince of Persia_ series in any way.

**Spoilers:** see the prologue

**Author's Notes:** there. Back to my normal pace. Slow. Most chapters will probably take this long to come out. Just to forewarn you. Enjoy!

**Warnings:** er… it's actually pretty boring, this chapter. I mostly introduces the Prince and hints at the actually plot of the story.

* * *

_/Chapter Two: "The Gods Are Angry"/_

**"And I serve the Fairy Queen,  
****To dew her orbs upon the green;  
****The cowslips tall her pensioners be;  
****In their gold coats spots you see;  
****Those be rubies, fairy favours;  
****In those freckles live their savours;  
****I must go seek some dewdrops here;  
****And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear"  
**-William Shakespeare, "A Fairy Song"

* * *

Outside, in the fertile valleys of Thessaly, thunder rumbled in an angry soprano of clashing clouds. Thessaly had once boosted of its deeply blue skies, lighter than the Aegean Sea, but now the skies were gray and loomed with an ominous flash of light. 

Rain pelted the ground, as it had pelted for days. People—farmers, merchants, wives, and children—hovered in the tiny bar, trying vainly to find some warmth in the onslaught of a week-long storm.

The wooden doors slapped open and everyone looked up as a tall, lanky man walked in, his face covered with a cloak that protected him from the chilled rain. Then, as he took his seat, everyone went back to their meals.

One of the barmaids, a stout woman in a long, black chiton, strode over to him with a pitcher of ale nestled in the crock of her arm. With a small, seductive smile she set the pitcher down beside him and waited for him to look up.

"Hey there, stranger," the barmaid greeted.

With a small nod she sized up the man. A young man, she realized, not far beyond boyhood. But even with his youth he had a handsome face; sharp, angular features that went well with his dark brown hair, cut around his chin. He had a stubble growing on his chin in a matching color that added a slight age to his youth.

A long, curved sword was strapped to his back, the leather strap coming over his blue tunic. Another sheath hung from a low place on his hips, hanging from a leather belt strapped onto his white trousers. He wore greaves around his wrists, a brown, thick leather with silver balls sown into them.

From what she could tell, he was a lanky sort of man, with a neat athletic build. Not a farmer, that meant. The young man had muscles, but they were wiry and small. It gave him a youthful and attractive look. He was a man that had power, but preferred to use his speed.

The young man raised his eyes to the maid and she almost jumped. She had been alive for thirty years, as good as an old spinster, and had entertained many men in her day—some for a price, others for free—but she had never seen eyes as green as the young man's. Gem-precious green, brighter than emerald, darker than fresh grass.

He didn't say anything, just watched as she poured him a drink. The woman thought he looked too young to have as a many worries as he did in his eyes. He took the glass she offered and handed her a gold coin.

With a laugh, the woman gave it back. "Don't worry about it, son. It's on the house."

"Thank you," the young man said, his voice strongly accented. It had an odd, regal tone to it. Highly educated, the woman thought with a sniff of her nose. Not many highly educated men walked around in storms with worn cloaks on their shoulders.

"You ain't from these parts, are ya?" she asked as her voice deepened. The young man shrugged. "I can tell. Don't hold yarself like the others around here. So then, my son, where do ya hail from?" At ease with herself, and knowing she had a break coming soon anyway, she sat down at the table.

"Across the sea," the man answered and she gave a hearty laugh when he offered nothing else.

"Thought so. You got that look upon ye. So why are you—" the door opened once more and the woman glanced up as the figure entered.

It was an old woman, hunched with age. She wore a thick cloak that covered her thin, pale bones. With a walking cane, she made her way over to where the young man and the woman sat.

"Do you mind I join you?" the old woman asked and looked over at the woman.

They were a hard, steel gray. The woman gave a small shudder. Though those eyes looked normal there was something terrifying about them, something that made the woman want to get as far away from the old hag as she could.

"Well, my break's over. Best be gettin' back to work," she said and hurried to the bar once more. The old woman took her seat.

"Ale ain't good for ya," the woman rasped and took the cup from the young man when he went to drink it. "Puts ya in a state."

The young man blinked at her and, trying not to sound annoyed, asked, "What do you want?"

"A place to rest my tired old bones," the woman answered with a small smile. She laughed and then it turned into a cough. "I remember Thessaly… used to be beautiful, second only to Athens. Now it's a mess. Rains everyday and I haven't seen the sun since the Festival of Zeus."

"I just arrived two days ago," the young man answered.

"You sure chose a time to arrive," the old woman teased. "What's wrong with your home? Run away?"

"No… I just didn't fit in there anymore. Everything was the same while I… I had changed." The young man frowned a little, a dark look passing over his handsome features.

"I know the feeling," the woman agreed with a nod of her head. Thunder rolled in the distance and she blinked and looked at the door. When she turned back to the young man she was smiling. "The gods are angry…"

"Gods? Why do you say that?"

The old woman shrugged. "I have lived in Thessaly for many, many, many years and I have never seen such a storm rampage it. It is the sign of dissension among our Olympian gods."

The young man did not answer. He folded his sun-kissed hands over the wooden table, a look of thoughtfulness in his face. "You worship your gods vigorously here. I've seen ten temples in my short time here."

"Well, yes. Our gods demand worship. Terrible things oft happen to mortals who don't pay the proper amends to the gods. Agamemnon, the king of Mycenae some hundred years ago, had to sacrifice his own daughter because he had angered the goddess Artemis. But it didn't do him any good. After his war(1) his wife killed him." The old woman thumped her cane and crackled.

"Do you really think the gods are angry?" the young man questioned.

"Well, I work in the Thessalonian palace as a maid there. And well… I heard rumors." The old woman leaned closer to the boy, as if afraid someone would overhear. "There is news from Sparta. They're moving against the kingdoms across the sea. I hear that the young king of Sparta has just ordered the kidnapping of an Indian princess."

If the woman noticed the change in the young man she didn't say anything. His hand gripped the edge of the table, his nail digging into the wood. "What princess? Do you know?"

"Hmm… let me think… a maharajah's daughter, I know that. Far… Farah? Yes, I think her name was Fara—where are you going?" the old woman demanded as the young man got to his feet.

"I have to go," was all he answered.

"Well of course you do!" the old woman laughed and slapped her knee. "You got the look of someone who does a lot of saving. Take this," she tossed him a bow from the billowing folds of her robe, "it doesn't look like you have one. My sister once said you can't do anything without a bow to back you up."

The young man caught it with a skill that showed he knew how to handle a weapon. His fingers touched the bow with appraisal. It was carved with the finest, purest ivory he had ever seen, sanded until it was the purest, smoothest white. The string of the bow was a bright silver, moon colored almost. A wild stag had been carved on the handle, painted in with a deep crimson, with a long mane flowing along the white shaft. With it came the thick leather holsters of the arrows, straighter than anything he had seen before and fletched with pure, golden feathers.

"Good luck. I sense your going to need it," the old woman said as the man turned and left the bar. She turned toward a barmaid as she scurried by. "Woman, get me a drink. Strong ale. I haven't had a taste of it for a long, long, long time."

Her gray eyes twinkled underneath her white brows.

--&--

He was the Prince of Persia, and carried himself as thus. Of course, he didn't go around saying that he was. People would be tempted to kidnap him and hold himself ransom; the rumors of Persia's wealth would tempt anyone.

The Prince often thought on his home. And he often thought about it with an aching heart.

Though he didn't fit in at Persia, with his family and his father and his brothers anymore, he still loved his former home. It had been his youth, the symbol of his innocence.

But he hadn't fit there anymore. When the Prince had returned with his father to Persia after the disappointing—to the king anyway—failure of the invasion of India, the Prince had found himself a different person. He couldn't sit by and listen to his father and brothers talk of war when he knew the true horrors of it. They thought him the same person when in fact he was different, too different to fit in with his family anymore. If they had changed perhaps…

They had not changed, however.

So he had no choice but to leave. He took what gold he had, dressed himself in traveling gear, and had left. A note had replaced him, explaining that he had wanted to see the world. It was a childish thing, and a childish reason, but many still thought him a child and he hoped they bought his excuse.

For a year he had traveled the world, seeking a place where he seemed to fit. None worked. Persia had only come close and he still felt uncomfortable there.

All he had on his person now was what remained of his gold coins and the sword he had taken during his adventure with the Sands of Time.

Or had he not taken it? Everything he had done had been reversed and though he still carried the sword because he had been the one wielding the Dagger of Time when time had rewound, he wondered if there was another sword in its place.

He reached out and pulled the sword from its sheath on his back. It was a powerful, elegant weapon. He had gone through three swords during his time in the Sultan's palace and this one—the one he had gained last—was his favorite.

But thinking of the sword made him think about _why_ he had gotten it.

"Farah…" Her name was often on his tongue. It was always there, in his head, in his sleep, in his dreams. He remembered their time together, the adventures, and worries, and passion.

She didn't remember it. Time had been rewound and with it her memories of her wild ride with him had faded, disappearing into the sand. It had been necessary, he had done it to save her, and he would not regret trading in their love for her life.

It still haunted him, the image of her falling, her graceful body taking the deadly swan dive into the hard, unforgiving ground. The undeniable sound of her neck snapping as Farah hit the ground, the frozen, limpness of her body, the chill of her skin. It all haunted him until the point that during the night he awoke believing she was still dead.

It wasn't true. Farah was alive and, for a while, she had been safe. She had only known him as the mysterious Persian soldier who had revealed a traitorous vizier. And no matter how much it had pained him it was for the best.

But it was possible she was in trouble _now_. After what that woman had said, it seemed Farah had yet again become a spoil of war.

That was why the Prince was going to Thessaly. The woman had said she had heard the rumors there. If there was any truthfulness to them, no doubt he would find out more at the city-state(2).

Thessaly was neither a poor or rich state. It did well enough, mostly because it was only two days' journey from Athens, the center of Grecian commerce. Most merchants who stopped to trade at Athens later went to Thessaly to trade and sell as well.

The city state was also surrounded by fertile lands on one side—the other was covered by barren desert land—and the farmers knew how to toil it to their advantage.

Walking into the city, however, one wouldn't think of it as a prospering city-state. The streets, dirt covered and muddy, were empty, merchant stands deserted. The gray light from the sky above gave it an eerie, dead feeling. Silence was perverse and unnatural, enforced by some wicked entity.

The emptiness of the city gave him easy access to the small, squat palace of the Thessalonian royal family. Inside was different from the outside. Fireplaces had been lit and added a glow to the stone walls. People hustled and bustled inside, maid laden with bowls of fruits, guards with swords.

The Prince slipped into the shadows, thinning himself against a wide, pale pillar. The kitchen was only feet away. Maids walked to and fro from it. Maybe he could overhear… maybe—

It was a long shot, but he doubted they would willingly give him the information he wanted.

A guard stopped in front of his pillar. The Prince's hand slipped up to touch the hilt of his sword. The bow and arrow set the old, mysterious woman had given him was also strapped against his backside, but he had no intention of using them. He would fight if he had to. _Just don't turn around you blasted guard! Just don't—_

"That damned group of thieves is returning this week," the guard muttered in anger, kicking the pillar. _There must be two of them. Damn!_ "The king'll probably make us chase them… _again_."

"Don't know that," the second guard answered. "Heard they had a really big job that's gonna take them all the way to Sparta. Something about kidnapping."

It was all the Prince could do not to scream with impatience. His hand slipped away from the hilt of his sword and touched the cool marble of the pillar. _Calm. Deep breathes. In and out._

"You think they're gonna stop here? Supplies or something?"

"No, I doubt it. No one here'll give them any. Probably continue right on to Sparta. Stop at Athens maybe, but not here." The guard cursed suddenly. "Zeus damn us, we're supposed to be patrolling the west wall."

"By the gods! _Move_!"

When he was sure they were gone, the Prince came out from behind the column. So the kidnappers that might have taken Farah weren't coming to Thessaly? That was fine with him. If he had to fight to free Farah he didn't want to do it with people watching. Innocent bystanders could—and probably would—get hurt.

Before anyone took note of him, he raced out of the palace, his boots kicking up dirt and mud. The rain had stopped but the smell of it lingered on it the air. Thick, low clouds hung from the sky like a blanket. The clouds would clash again and with it would come more rain.

The Prince wanted to be out before it started raining. Traveling would be harder then. If he could reach the kidnappers before they neared a city that would be desirable. He didn't want to harm innocent civilians or allow the kidnappers to call for help.

But if Farah was in danger then nothing would stop him from going to her rescue.

As the Prince made his way down the well-trodden and trampled road he found himself wondering why fate saw to it that Farah was once again drawn into his life. He had spent two years trying to escape the fragrant memory of her—her breathy sighs and moon-exquisite skin and gentle caresses—and when he had just managed to go a week without the dream of her it was whispered that she was in need of his help.

Once more Farah was destined to alter his life, it seemed, or at least remind him of all the Sands of Time had taken from him. And no matter how much he wanted to escape the dark path his life was taking once more if it meant being nearing Farah again he would do it. If it meant being able to be in her presence, to drown in her dark pools, inhale her unique, spicy scent…

He shook the memories off. It was too much a risk to be dragged back into the past. A past that had never happened. The dream, that shared dream of the magick night in the cavern in the Sultan's palace, had to be forgotten. It couldn't happen anymore, there was no chance of it, hadn't Farah's anger over his kiss that day two years ago on her balcony shown him that?

_It doesn't matter right now. First, I have to _find_ her_, the Prince told himself as he came to the end of the cleared, dirt road. Further off was the sea. They would likely be going to a small town on the city, where they could rent a boat without raising too much suspicion. There were only a few cities that close to the Aegean Sea and Athens.

Hopefully it wasn't too late.

--&--

As the newly kidnapped princess slept, the woman who had become her captor went about fixing the princess's wardrobe. When the young woman awake from her unconscious spell she would walk like the rest of them, not carried by a horse. In her binding skirt she would find it difficult.

She stripped the girl of her royal garb and dressed in more simple clothes. The woman didn't put Farah in a chiton—the thin and revealing fabric would no doubt humiliate the princess.

Instead, she took a simple, loose skirt that only went to the young girl's knees. The skirt was made of several overlapping fabrics that would part when the girl walked, giving everyone a view of her legs. Her shirt covered the first half of her chest and had a low neckline, keeping the scarab necklace out in view. The bottom of the skirt was decorated with gold lining as was the top of the skirt, and the shirt's collar.

It was still a bit too royal for her taste, but since this would be the outfit she was presented to the Spartan king in the woman supposed the silky fabric and golden embroidery was necessary.

The girl frowned in her sleep and fretfully shifted on the small cot her unconscious body had been laid upon. Her fingers twisted, as if she was reaching for an intangible thing in her sleep. The cherry red of her lips twisted as she muttered incoherent words, twisted her legs around the thin blanket in her sleep.

A pretty face, the woman thought, youthful. Dark, midnight hair tied into a small ponytail at the back of her neck, a dark strand covering her eyes. When she was awake, the princess had deep, mahogany eyes. She had attractive features, both fierce and classical, warm and cold. They were sharp and smooth at the same time, giving her a strange, beautiful and attractive look.

The young princess might have been too skinny, though. But her body was lithe and meant for skinniness. It would have been boyish if not for the slight flare of her hips and the curves of her breasts. Her arms and legs were slender, and long like a dancer's, and generously tanned. It was soft as well. Soft and thin. A combination that shouldn't have been attractive, but was on her.

_Now, what haunts you?_ the woman wondered as she reached out two fingers to touch the girl's smooth forehead. There was no sign of fever. Perhaps it was just a nightmare.

"No… wait… what did you—?" the princess murmured as she jerked in her sleep, her slender body shivering.

The woman returned to her perch at the edge of the thin cot. Rocking on the balls of her heels, she withdrew the dagger from the strap over her hips. A strange weapon, indeed—a powerful but strange weapon. She twirled it between her fingers, watching the silver glint and reflect in the movements.

Why had the princess given up her chance of escape for this dagger? There must have been some importance to it, other than its glowing silver.

With a shrug, she replaced the dagger. It didn't matter she supposed. The dagger wouldn't do the princess any good as long as she didn't have it. And the woman didn't plan on giving it back to her.

The deed was done. The mission she had been charged with was already completed. The maharajah had been left alive. She had been sure of that. It had been her only order upon entering the palace. The king was to be left alive. The women and the children and the soldiers could be killed, the treasure could be plundered, but the king had to live through the sacking of the city.

And he had lived. She had stabbed him in the shoulder with her swords. Not enough to be fatal but enough so he had been easy to overpower. She had forced him onto the throne and, after he had passed out, had then gone after his daughter. When the woman had taken Farah prisoner she had left a tiny dagger behind, on the pedestal where the strange, glowing dagger had rested moments before.

When the maharajah found his daughter missing he would find a thin, ceremonial knife in her place. And he would, without a doubt, recognize the insignia upon it. The symbol of the royal house of Sparta.

It would be obvious to the maharajah what had happened. The king of Sparta had ordered the kidnapping of his only daughter and had thereby declared war on India. The armies would be set up, prepared. And Sparta had promised to answer their call.

India would never suspect the deeper play in motion, just beneath the surface. They would never think to look and that would be their downfall.

She left the tent where the princess slept, pushing open the brown tent flap. A campfire glowed feet away, the embers sparking and dancing in the blackened sky. The thieves that worked—for the time being—for Sparta circled it. Most of the men had set up rolls near the open fire, tiny blankets and a thin mat.

They were talking and she knew that she, being both the woman and the leader, would be an unwelcome presence in their circle. So she hovered in the darkness, allowing the cool and suffocating black to surround her.

"—hope she gets beat," Ratscrew—_why would anyone choose to be called Ratscrew?_—said. He was a tough man, and one that didn't often forget an injury. His nose was bandaged from the wounds given to him by the princess. "That'll teach her to know her place."

"She got some spitfire. I like that," the bearded man was quick to reply. "Ya just dun like her 'cause she bloodied your nose."

"Indian whore," Ratscrew growled and crossed his arms as everyone took their turn laughing at him. "Someone ought to teach her some respect."

The woman considered telling Ratscrew to shut up, but knew it wouldn't be appreciated. For the time being she needed these men's cooperation. She couldn't sail a boat without help and they needed one to get to Sparta.

But when the time came… when she didn't need them anymore… well maybe she would show Ratscrew that it just wasn't a princess who would kick his ass when given the chance. The others were fine enough—she cared for none of them—but it was this one that enraged her the most.

She stifled a yawn against the back of her hand. No point in worrying about her rage this night. There was nothing she could do about it. For now, she needed to be rested. Tomorrow she would awake the princess if the young woman did not wake on her own. Then they would make the long and tedious journey across the deserted lands to the ruins of Troy.

It would, she supposed, be easier to travel across the Aegean Sea from Ephesus, but she trusted the Trojan boat makers and she wanted to go across the Thessalonian lands. Not into the city-state, but behind it. The lands were fertile enough there for them to find food if necessary, but far enough not to bring attention to themselves.

Her bed was beside the princess. She didn't trust these men with this woman. Especially when one such as Ratscrew was enraged. A light sleeper such as herself would be an ideal guardian. And until they had reached Sparta, she would protect the princess's life and virtue.

Stealthily, she entered the tent, making not a word. She grabbed the base of the candle she had left burning beside the princess and blew it out gently. She settled at the base of her bed, unsheathing her swords and placing them next to her. Even as her eyes slid closed, her ears were perked for any sound of movement.

And she allowed herself to fall into half-sleep.

**(TBC)**

* * *

**Story Notes:** (1) Pretaining to the myths _The Illiad_ and _The Odyssey_ which is about the Trojan War. Agamemnon is the brother of Meneluas, who is the husband of Helen, and goes to war with Troy both to get Helen back and to claim the bountiful land of Troy. His army kills one of Artemis's stags and the goddess demands the sacrifice of his daughter. Agamemnon tricks his wife, Clytemnestra, into giving him his oldest daughter by promising her that their daughter is going to marry Achilles. When news reaches Clytemnestra that Agamemnon has killed her most favorite daughter she takes a lover and together they plot the death of Agamemnon. After winning the war, Clytemnestra meets her husband on last time while he is bathing. She throws a net over him while he is in the water and her lover butchers the king with a two-headed axe. Yeah, dysfunctional much? 

(2) Thessaly is actually an entire country south of the popular cities of the Grecian world. There were no really well-known Thessalonian city-states so I made one named after its country. It was good enough for me.

**Reviews:**

**Specter Von Baren:** You know, in the beginning I was actually thinking about making a GoW crossover. Then I decided not to. Now they're just really… really… really… similar. And as for Rosalind… I needed a Spanish name and so I just typed it into a search engine and that was the first one that came up.

**Joker:** It's always hard for me to update. I'm a procrastinated by nature. Luckily, these chapters are a whole _lot_ shorter than my other fic currently being posted. That takes days to edit.

**Sorceress Cassandra180:** I always try to make my fics as descriptive as they can be. I want my readers to be able to picture the setting, the characters, and everything going around them. I'm so glad you can!

**ChatterBox101:** Well I don't know about any Prince/Farah scenes _soon_ but they will be coming. Promise. This story was really based on my need to pair these two together again!

**Glorfindel Silverleaf:** Why thank you! I was going to solicit this story in Jak IV but then I decided not to… but you know what? I might just do it anyway because I have… becoming… a review-whore.

**EternalDarkPrincess:** Well, that's what I heard at the Ubisoft Forums. A girl can hope, can't she? Anyway, I've just gotten done reading the first chapter of your story! It rocks! Once I finish reading all the chapters expect a nice, _big_ review for it.

**Next Chapter Preview:**

_He grabbed the back of her head roughly and dragged her up. Farah screamed as she was thrown bodily to the floor. The man, his face riddled with her claw marks, towered over her, trembling with rage. "I know you ain't sleepin'."_

_The man looked mad enough to kill. He grabbed her, hauled her back to her feet, and Farah struggled against him. She managed to kick him sternly in the shin but it only made his grip on her shoulders tighten. She felt the warm flow of blood dribble down her arm and she almost screamed in rage and terror._

_"This'll teach ya, eh girlie?" the man growled and withdrew a jagged, needle-sharp dagger from his waist belt. Farah glared heatedly into his dark and beady eyes and then whimpered lightly when the blade bit brutally into her skin._

_Her mind spun in wild circles. She considered begging, sobbing, struggling. But the man was so much stronger than her. Would anything stop him?_

_Of course! The Dagger of Time! She would rewind time and run away from him. Farah's fingers reached for it at the beltline of thin skirt and her fingers started to tremble. _What? The Dagger isn't here! Oh no… where is it? What happened to it?

_Had she dropped it?…_

_…"You may call me Anthria."_

_Looking at the woman this close, Farah realized that her eyes were a strange combination of onyx and cobalt. The irises were a dark, dark color with flecks of cobalt floating in her eyes like ice._

_"Why are you doing this?" Farah asked softly._

**-One more note. I hate doing this, but anywho, don't be afraid to review. See, we authors now have hit counters I know how many people read my work. I accept anonymous reviews, flames, critism, one word reviews. Don't be afraid to make your voices heard. I appreciate everything that is written to me! Plus... I'll love you forever... XD-**


	4. Scourge from Sparta

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing

**Spoilers:** see prologue

**Author's Notes:** er… late… I know. But at least it's not _too_ late! Trust me, it could be a lot worse.

**Warning:** none, 'cept it can get boring

_

* * *

/Chapter Three: Scourge from Sparta/ _

"**Touch her not scornfully!  
****Think of her mournfully  
****Gently and humanly—  
****Not of the stains of her  
****All that remains of her  
****Now is pure womanly."  
**-Thomas Hood, "The Bridge of Sighs"

* * *

Her head was aching. Farah moaned and touched it, half expecting it to have doubled in its size. But it hadn't it. It remained a perfectly normal sized skull.

Then why did it hurt so much? It felt like there was something ricocheting off the thick, bony walls of her cranium.

A glance around her had Farah grappling for the thin sheet around her body. This wasn't her room. Where was she? Panic swarmed her brain as, for a blind, blissful moment, she didn't remember what had happened. Then, like a tempest, it all rushed back into her head.

_The woman… with the striking blonde hair—_

—_Rashym, sword slicing across his stomach, the half-surprised, half-fearful look on his face, an almost confused light in his eyes._

"_Get the Dagger of Time…" her father told her, again and again in her head._

"Father…" she whispered weakly as she curled her knees to her chest. Her eyes squeezed closed and her hands pressed weakly against her ears, trying to drown out the sounds and sights of that horrible day in her palace.

_Poor Rosalind… dead before I even knew her—I had only learned her name a few minutes ago…_

What had happened to everyone when she had fled to the chamber holding the Dagger of Time? Did her father even live, or had he been struck down as well? What had happened to all the other people in the palace? And the treasure, what of that?

Everything had fallen apart around her. In the blink of an eye, the snap of a finger, the twirl of a sword, she had lost _everything_. Her land, her people, her father… her husband-to-be. Everything.

_Rashym…_ Farah bit her lip as guilt washed over her. It didn't sadden her to think he was dead the way it did to think of her father, not knowing whether or not he was even alive. Farah thought maybe it should. After Rashym would have been her husband if he had lived. Didn't he deserve a tear at least?

But she couldn't make them fall. When she thought of the old man who would have been her husband she felt dried up, shriveled inside. Everything inside her froze—her blood, her organs, her oxygen. When she thought of her father she felt hot tears at the corners of her eyes, but there were none in her for Rashym.

She lifted herself quietly from the thin cot of her tent she rested in. Since she wasn't chained down she assumed that whoever had taken her prisoner hadn't expected her to awaken earlier. Why else would she remain unfettered to something?

Unless her captors were sure enough of themselves that she wasn't a threat to them. Unless they believed they could remain one foot ahead of her.

Farah crept to the edge of her cot like a shy animal, holding her breath, careful to remain silent. If someone was guarding her she didn't want to alert them to her wakefulness. Her feet padded as silently as they could across the floor as she edged closer to the flap of the tent.

With a small, trembling hand she reached out and pulled the flap up. Blinding sun met her eyes and Farah dropped the flap with a soft curse. She closed her eyes and opened the entrance of the tent again. Beneath her eyelids, she saw orange and bright gold at the bottom. With deep, calming breaths she opened them.

This time her eyes were much more adjusted to the blinding light. She quickly realized the brightness came from the white sands beneath her. It was a barren wasteland her tent stood on, opening in the front and surrounded by mountains on its side.

Where was she? It wasn't a desert, nor was it a jungle. She had never been in this terrain before, this harsh and unforgiving landscape. There was no hint of water anywhere and no animals. Only brilliant sun and blistering heat.

A dark skinned man approached her tent. In the back of her mind, Farah saw herself clawing at his face in the palace before her kidnapping. She gasped and dropped the flap, racing back into her cot.

"Zeus damned wench…" the man was muttered as he stormed into the room. Farah struggled to keep her breathing even and deep. Beneath her head her fingers clenched into tight fist.

He grabbed the back of her head roughly and dragged her up. Farah screamed as she was thrown bodily to the floor. The man, his face riddled with her claw marks, towered over her, trembling with rage. "I know you ain't sleepin'."

The man looked mad enough to kill. He grabbed her, hauled her back to her feet, and Farah struggled against him. She managed to kick him sternly in the shin but it only made his grip on her shoulders tighten. She felt the warm flow of blood dribble down her arm and she almost screamed in rage and terror.

"This'll teach ya, eh girlie?" the man growled and withdrew a jagged, needle-sharp dagger from his waist belt. Farah glared heatedly into his dark and beady eyes and then whimpered lightly when the blade bit brutally into her skin.

Her mind spun in wild circles. She considered begging, sobbing, struggling. But the man was so much stronger than her. Would anything stop him?

Of course! The Dagger of Time! She would rewind time and run away from him. Farah's fingers reached for it at the beltline of thin skirt and her fingers started to tremble. _What? The Dagger isn't here! Oh no… where is it? What happened to it._

Had she dropped it?

She didn't know what to do. She must have dropped the Dagger when she had been kidnapped. Or someone had taken it. Oh, she prayed that no one realized its true power or everything could be ruined. Lives and the world.

There was nothing else to do. Farah prepared to bite and kick and claw herself to freedom. She tensed against the man who held her prisoner in the harsh circle of his arms. He would receive more than a broken nose this time.

The man dropped her suddenly. Farah hit the floor, quickly gaining her footing once more. She crouched down into a fighting position, her teeth bared in a snarl. There was a hand—a pale, smooth hand—on the man's shoulder.

Farah almost gasped when the older man was jerked away by the blonde-haired woman from the palace. Of course, the woman had been working with the men but for some reason it still surprised her to see a woman allowing herself to be in the company of such lowlifes.

"I told you," the woman spoke, her voice iced over. There was a hint of raw anger in her voice, but it was only a hint. "The princess is too remain unharmed."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," the man muttered and tried to jerk his shoulder from the woman.

Without warning, the woman's foot shot out and kicked at the backside of his knees. Her flat palm pressed against his chest as he fell and increased the velocity of his descent. When he hit the ground, he made an 'oof' sound and wheezed. She slapped a sandaled foot against his chest, glaring down at him.

"Understand this, if you threaten her again I will gut you and send your pieces home in a box. Understand?" The man gave a weak nod and she removed her sandal from his chest. "Leave."

The man scrambled to his feet and hurried from the room. The woman waited until he had gone before turning back to Farah. She reached out for the young woman's arm, looking at the bright red that flowed down her arm.

She jumped away, hissing. The woman held her hand out, palms up. "I mean you no harm. I aim to tend to your wound."

"You expect me to believe that?" Farah snapped.

"No. But I have no reason to harm you. I am being paid to bring you to Sparta unharmed. So allow me to tend your wounds." Before Farah could blink, the woman was dragging her to the ground. They both knelt on the small cot. "This wound is not deep."

Biting her lip as the woman rubbed a green, sticky salve onto her cut, Farah was swarmed with questions. Who was this woman? Why was she working for the kidnappers? Why was she being taken to Sparta? Why was all this happening?

But she couldn't say any of the questions. They rose and lodged in her throat, causing her more pain then the salve did seeping into her bloodstream.

"What's your name?" the woman asked as she finished. She whipped her sticky fingers on her thin chiton and remained kneeling beside Farah. When Farah didn't answer, the woman raised a pale brow. "I was under the impression most princesses were given names."

"Fa—Farah," she managed and then immediately hated herself. There was nothing amazingly frightening about this woman. She angled her chin in a stubborn manner. "What's yours?"

For a second the woman didn't answer. Then she laughed softly and stood, returning the salve to its place in a small rucksack at the base of the cot. "I have been given many names in my time. The Soldier of Oblivion, the Warrior of the Abyss, Harbinger of Death. Are you familiar with any? No? Well, one that has always stuck with me is Scourge from Sparta. Many of taken to calling me that."

The woman took a small, white bandage from the rucksack and bounded Farah's arm in it. When she faced the young woman once again there was a small smile on her face. She moved a piece of golden and silver hair from her eyes.

"You may call me Anthria."

Looking at the woman this close, Farah realized that her eyes were a strange combination of onyx and cobalt. The irises were a dark, dark color with flecks of cobalt floating in her eyes like ice.

"Why are you doing this?" Farah asked softly.

"I suggest you rest now, princess," was all the woman answered. "When the sun begins to set we move." She stood and walked from the tent, her thin, cotton chiton swinging against her thighs as she went.

The woman didn't look back at Farah as the young woman stared after her.

--&--

They mostly moved during the night, when it wasn't nearly as hot. The dangers were likely higher than, the nocturnal animals such as snakes and scorpions hunted at that time, but the sun was a deadly foe and one best avoided.

Farah was forced to walk until her feet blistered. By the second day of walking, her thin slippers were discarded. And there had been no spare sandals for her to wear. She had been forced to walk on the sharp, harsh ground with bare feet.

When they did rest—during the day when the sun was highest in the sky—Farah slept near Anthria and the older woman always had a hand on her sword. It was obvious she didn't trust the people she worked with.

In her thin, captive clothes Farah shivered. Rain pelted against their heads—a sign, Anthria had said, that they were coming closer to the sea—and she shivered, gripping her bare arms and rubbing them in a vain attempt for warmth.

Troy, that was where Anthria had said they were heading. Mostly to her men, not to Farah. But she had overhead.

_I've heard of Troy_ _before…_ Farah thought on a weak frown. _My father loved the war story, but I had never though it was real before. But if there are ruins then it meant that the city was really sacked and women and children were thrown from roofs. It all started for a woman then, a beautiful woman._

"You have a question?" Anthria asked and she moved over to Farah's side in the rear. Moonlight played in the silver highlights of her hair. "I can see it in your face."

"Is the story… about Troy, true?" Farah asked and then tried not to sound too eager about the question. "I heard stories of it before. My father loved to listen to them."

"Oh yes, Troy is real. Very real. (1)A beautiful woman, Helen of Sparta, ran away with Prince Paris, a man of Troy, and her true husband, Menalues, followed her. Only Menalues was brother to Agamemnon, king of all Greece at that time. And Agamemnon had had his eye on Troy for years—their fertile lands and powerful trade routes made them a sought after conquest—and Helen's daring escape gave him the opportunity he so desired. For ten long years the walls of Troy held off the Grecian invaders before finally Odysseus, a shrewd king of Ithaca, built the Trojan Horse."

"Yes," Farah agreed, as she lowered her head against the rain. "I know the rest. The Trojans brought the horse into their city thinking it to be an offering to some god or another. When the Trojans were filled with drink the Greek soldiers came out of the horse and sacked the city."

"It's popular story, especially in Greece. In the end Agamemnon is killed by his wife and Helen returns to Sparta with Menalues, never to smile again. Odysseus spends ten more years at sea, trying to return to his wife." Anthria looked away from her, something strange and new flashing in her eyes. "My son loved the story."

_Son…?_ Farah thought blindly. She forgot to watch her footing and slid on the rocks. Anthria reached out and caught her, but the damage was already done. A rock sliced into Farah's ankle and she almost screamed with pain.

"I'm alright," she weakly and Anthria dropped her arm. With a nod to the princess, the Spartan woman went back to the front of their troupe.

Farah didn't know what to make of the woman. She was willing to answer any questions that Farah had for her, but she held herself apart from everyone. Everything about her was lined with coldness. She handled herself with a cool, detached grace that hinted at the power and deadly precision underneath.

For another five hours they walked. Farah felt every slice of rock on her foot. She prayed for the sun, the blinding, blistering sun for that was when she could finally rest. It felt as if her entire body was thinning to the point where she simply would not exist anymore. She would just fade from existence.

Another two hours later she was finally able to lower herself to the thin cot. She moaned softly, biting down on her lip to keep the sound inside her throat. Warm blood flowed from the open blisters on her feet.

She closed her eyes when Anthria entered the tent she rested in. Anthria never strayed far from her. She was always near her, ready to protect her from the men under her command. Farah didn't look up at her.

Anthria gripped Farah foot and she almost sobbed with pain when the woman's callous fingers stroked her popped blisters. She pressed her face into her thin pillow and held her tears back bravely.

Then the woman stood and left the tent. Farah was glad, so glad, that she was gone. When she did finally allow herself to break down into tears she didn't want anyone around to see.

Everything was falling apart. For a few days Farah had been able to pretend there was nothing wrong, that everything would right itself. But resting on her thin cot, her feet aching from her forced walk, she realized nothing would ever be alright again. She was being taken to Sparta for who knew what.

Exhaustion overtook her as her eyelids became heavy. Her breathing became more steady and deep and no matter what she did she couldn't fight the sleep that overcame her. Maybe she didn't want to.

As she slipped into the arms of sleep she prayed for a dream. Dreams of the strange man from her balcony two years ago. Somehow, her dreams of him soothed her. His dreamy green gaze pieced her heart and made her bones melt and everything that was frightening and wrong with the world faded into nothingness.

But the dreams had abandoned her on her first night as a captive. And no matter how much she prayed, they would no return to her. It seemed as if someone was seeing to it that Farah all alone in the depths of her despair. It was almost as if someone was trying to break her, break her very soul, in their own twisted game.

The world blackened around her and Farah was grateful for it.

--&--

The sun had just begun to set when Farah awakened once more. Her feet were still aching but with the hours of sleep she had gained she felt strengthened.

And there were no more tears that threatened to burst from her throat. It was almost as if she was all dried up inside. All her tears and her grief had abandoned her and she was left hollow and empty inside.

Anthria strode into her tent, pushing opening the flap. "Get up. We're about a day from Troy." When Farah went to obey, the blonde woman held a hand. "Wait. Put these on first." She tossed her a pair of sandals.

Farah picked them up as the leather shoes fell into her lap. They were shaped just like Anthria's was, only smaller. They were smooth and cool and Farah didn't hesitate to put them on her feet.

She sat crisscrossed on her cot and look up at Anthria. With a small sigh, she pushed away the mink strand of hair that had covered her eye. "Why are you doing all this?" she asked, allowing confusion to line her voice.

The older woman looked out, toward the setting down. The melting golds and oranges lit the contours of her dark, dark eyes. Then, after a long moment of pause, she glanced over at Farah. "I am in service to a god who would see you to Sparta. His is will is my own. It has been for… a long time…"

"Who?" Farah questioned, softly. Her mind reeled softly. A god? That meant this was more than some political plot to gain power. This was otherworldly.

Anthria didn't answer. She knelt beside Farah and looked at her softly. Farah's dark eyes blinked in surprise. It was the most tender, kindest look the woman had ever showed her before. It was frightening… but not unwelcome.

"Tomorrow we will set sail for Sparta. Within the week's end you will be in the royal house of the city state." Anthria touched the scarab necklace that hung at the hollow of Farah's throat. "It is not a fate I would wish on any woman, but it is the will of my god. You will be the mistress to the king."

"No!" Farah almost cried and thought perhaps she should have seen it all along. What other reason was there for a princess to be kidnapped other than for ransom and marriage? She tried to stand up but Anthria gripped her wrist and held her down.

"Listen to me," Anthria commanded when Farah started to struggle. "Running will do you no good. Should you leave here without me the men will come after you, and do much worse."

"Why? Why are you doing this?" Farah's eyes covered with tears. _I would rather marry Rashym then be a whore for a king. This cannot be happening! _"Are you really that loyal to a god as cruel as this?"

"Not by freewill," Anthria retorted and with her free hand withdrew a dagger from the leather strap holding her chiton together at her hips. "I believe this is yours. I found it on you on that day in the palace."

"The Dagger of—!" Farah stopped herself from saying the true name. She could not trust Anthria. If the woman knew what the true power of the dagger was, she might not return it to her. "—my father."

"There is a strange power to it. I do not recognize it myself, but I hope it serves you well." She pressed the glittering hilt into Farah's hand, who closed her knuckles quickly around it as if afraid Anthria would change her mind.

Farah looked down at the tiny, silver button on the Dagger. When the opportunity came perhaps she could use the Dagger to escape. It appeared as if she was the only one who knew of its true power. That was her only trump card and she would have to use it wisely if she wanted to live.

For now she would remain silent about the Dagger. Then, when the moment presented itself, she would make her escape.

"The King of Sparta…" Anthria began and bit her bottom lip. Then she continued, "He is a cruel, cruel man. He harms… many people because of his warlike ways. If he attempts such things with you, use it on him." She touched the silver metal of the sword.

"Why are you doing this for me?" she demanded softly. It was the one thing she didn't understand. Why had this could woman given her the Dagger—her means to escape—and shoes when she would just hand her over to a woman-beater?

"I would do it for any other woman," Anthria answered. "No man has the right to put his unwelcome hands on a woman. That is my law."

Before anything else could be said the man who called himself Ratscrew—the man Farah had clawed in her palace—rushed into their tent. Farah recoiled, afraid he had finally become consumed in enough rage to go after her, and Anthria stood. The man collapsed against her, blood running down his back.

"Under attack…" Ratscrew rasped as Anthria lowered him to the ground. "One man… sword… deadly. After… girl…" He hacked up blood, the bright liquid falling from the corners of his mouth. His hand gripped Anthria's and it was obvious in his eyes he was afraid to die. Then his grip on Anthria slackened as he went limp on the floor.

Farah found it hard to breathe. Someone was here, someone had just killed Ratscrew. Did that mean they had come for her? Were they her rescuers? Or were they more thieves looking for an easy profit?

She had to make the decision, _now_. Did she stay with Anthria, the woman who had sworn to give her as a whore to a king? Or did she take the risk and pray the man blockading her camp had come to rescue her?

It was obvious who she would have chosen. Even if Anthria was not a vicious, heartless thief she clearly had every intention of handing Farah over to the Spartan king. No matter what, Farah would not become a whore if she could help it.

But even as her feet made way to the tent flap, Anthria grabbed her hand. Farah struggled and screamed and Anthria wrapped a hand around her mouth. She growled in some place low in her throat, staring at the flap.

"I'm not waiting for him to attack," Anthria muttered and held a squirming Farah against her chest. "We escape through the back. Climb up the mountains."

_No! _Farah flailed in protest as Anthria carried her toward the back of the tent with surprising. _No! I want to take my chances with them. Please, let me go._ But Anthria's pale hand was cupped firmly over her full, red lips that she could not make the words form. The skin prevented her from. She tried to kick herself free, but Anthria ignored her vain attempts at freedom.

With silent and deadly reserve, Anthria withdrew her sword and moved to the back of the tent.

**(TBC)**

* * *

**Story notes:** (1) _The Iliad_ is taken from my Encyclopedia of Mythology. I mentioned this in the last chapter. If you want to see a nice portrayal of the myth, **don't** see _Troy_. Seriously, they shouldn't call _Troy_ and instead name it _The Movie Where Brad Pitt Gets Naked… A Lot_. I was screaming at my television set the entire time. Achilles a nice guy? Mingles unattractive and… dead? Achilles sleeping with Brises? Who the hell was Brises? Helen living happily ever after with Paris? Paris being a whiny… oh wait, no, that's right. Never mind. The only thing they got right was Hector and they killed him at the end so what does it matter:sob: If you want an accurate retelling rent _Helen of Troy_ at the nearest Blockbuster. They got it right, 'cept they made Paris look like a nicer guy, and not whiny at all. But other than that, it was really good. Oh, and why does everyone conveniently forget that Helen had a daughter before she ran away with Paris? What about Hermione's (Helen's daughter) needs?

**Reviews**

**Gamer064:** hey, thanks! I'm glad you liked it for what it was worth. As in the magick thing, sometimes there are two ways to spell a work. 'Magick' is an awkward way of spelling it, which is how I was raised to spell it. Old habits die hard, ya know? As far as romance between Farah and the Prince, it's because… well for me, it's because they were just so awesome together. All that British humor… :) Plus, from what I've seen of Kaileena (whatever) at my friend's house, she's too annoying to do anyone good.

**Joker:** well, I hope you keep reading! And I hope you enjoyed this chapter… even if it was a rather filter-chapter.

**bluetinkerbell:** well, I might need some Indian mythology if I delve into some of Farah's memories. If that's the case, I'll be sure to drop you an e-mail! Thanks!

**Lizai:** I, too, am I firm believer of happily ever after, even if I often lace it with angst galore. Well, I don't mind angsty endings so much, just as long as there was a ton of romance before that point!

**Sorceress Cassandra180:** thank you ever so much! I truly hope you're enjoying!

**Glorfindel Silverleaf:** ever notice how I'm mean to ever one of my female characters? Hmm… I dunno why. I think it's mostly because in those sappy-romance novels out there the women always end up as a virginal woman-child, an over-the-top sexpot, or a sultry seductress. Can't a female character be a normal woman with a healthy sex-life?

**Aragoran:** well, I do try to stay true to the story of the Prince, while having never seen WW from start to finish (in fact, I only saw one level in the middle). On the bright side, _Two Thrones_ is coming out and Farah is in it! Romance maybe? We can hope, can't we?

**Next Chapter Preview**

_With her newly freed hand she withdrew her other sword and faced the path they had climbed. "I'll fight him when he comes… I'll kill him." Her eyes had hardened to unfeeling stone and Farah felt suddenly, strangely afraid._

_She wasn't going to wait around to see just how dangerous the woman had become. Farah wheeled around just as a strong wind whipped at her skirt. She made a mad dash for the bottom of the mountain. _Please let him be here to rescue me… please let him be here to rescue me…

"_Farah, don't..." Anthria started to reach for Farah's arm, to drag her back, but suddenly her hand fell limp to her side, pale against her pale chiton._

_Farah kept on running. Running until she saw it raising from the ground…_

_If it was a person, it was malnourished one. Skin hung loosely from bones and had taken on a light green color. The person was tall, the tallest she had ever seen, and walked as if he had not used legs for a lifetime. A dead, hollow look was in his eyes and he had slack-jawed stare, the skin peeling to reveal cheekbones._

"_What are those things?" Farah demanded as she recoiled in shock. Bile rose up in her throat at the disgusting sight. She had never seen anything like this before. They were like corpses taken from the grave…_

… _In the distance he thought he heard a scream. Remembering suddenly, the Prince jerked his gaze over to the mountain. His dreamy green gaze had hardened as he searched for Farah._

_And there she was, silhouetted by the sun. There were three creatures by her and the last remaining kidnapper there as well. Farah had no weapons and had to rely on the strength of her captive to stay alive. But it was three against one and the kidnapper was drawn away from Farah._

_The creatures sensed an easy target and made their way to Farah._

"_Farah!" the Prince shouted and ignored his hellish foe. He turned and tried to climb the mountain, to protect her. He had failed once before to save Farah. He wouldn't fail again. This time he would be there in time…_

Time…

"_Farah!"_


	5. Hello Again

**Disclaimer:** I like to believe I own PoP… but then again… I _am_ crazy…

**Spoilers:** see prologue

**Author's Notes:** even if it's a little belated… Merry Christ-hana-kanz-adon! (if you celebrate those sort of things) and I happy New Year!

**Warnings:** some blood… and some gross things… ew…

* * *

_/Chapter Four: Hello Again/_

"**Gaily bedight,  
A gallant knight,  
****In sunshine and in shadow,  
****Had journeyed long,  
****Singing a song,  
****In search of Eldorado."  
**-Edgar Allen Poe, "Eldorado"

* * *

The Prince of Persia had been surprised at how easy it was to find the people who were responsible for Farah's kidnapping. Over the course of the week, he had become positive that it _was_ Farah who had been kidnapped. 

It hadn't been extremely easy to find them, but it hadn't been difficult, either. The kidnappers were smart enough to know to stay away from the main roads and cities where they would no doubt draw attention to themselves. And they, from what the Prince could gather, traveled at night.

But when a group of men traveled with a lone woman it was bound to grab someone's attention. A merchant traveling through the back roads at night—the main roads had become flooded—had seen the group making their way passed him. He had let loose the information when trading with a woman and the woman had told her friends and her friends had told their friends until people were keeping a lookout for the group.

The Prince didn't even have to ask around for the information he required. It was on everyone's lips. All he had to do was grow silent and let the words pass between friends. Then all he needed to know would be open to him.

He had crossed the sea and arrived at Troy as fast as he could, not even taking him a week. Traveling alone had allowed him to move faster than the kidnappers and to gain on them before they crossed the sea.

Rumors said that the kidnappers and their captive were not even a day's journey from Troy. A woman had showed up yesterday and asked for a boat to rent. With the sword and cold look in her eyes, some said she worked for the kidnappers.

It didn't matter to him. If the woman was indeed a kidnapper then he would fight her. It didn't matter if that was what it took to see Farah home safely.

The ruins of Troy shone in the moonlight as the Prince streaked across the barren lands. Once he had heard the land had been fertile and green, but since the sacking of the ancient city, the land had not been able to house any farmland.

The back road that the kidnappers were supposed to be using was almost overrun with decaying weeds. It seemed like they were the only things that grew near Troy. The main road was trodden by horses and wagons while the back road was only recognizable by the occasional footprint.

But it didn't take him long to find the kidnappers. There were no trees or woodlands for their troupe to hide in. The kidnappers had no choice but to camp in plain sight and it made them much easier for the Prince to track.

The kidnappers had chosen a small ditch surrounded by mountains on its side to camp. He supposed anyone who wasn't looking would not have noticed them. He hunched down on a small hill overlooking the group, withdrawing the sword from his back.

He had to plan this thoroughly. If he could get to Farah without alerting anyone to his presence he needed to do that. He didn't want to take the risk that someone would grab Farah and try to escape with her. Or worse, do her harm.

There was only one tent in the group. A fire crackled in front of it and he could make out black masses he took to be the sleeping kidnappers.

Dawn was breaking through the mountain tops and spilling its pink glow onto the camp sight. The Prince withdrew his sword and as silently as he could made his way down the steep hill. The bow the strange, mysterious woman had given him in Thrace was still slung over his back, but he had never even thought about using it.

As the Prince descended the hill he realized how useless his plan of stealth was. It was a barren ditch, devoid of all trees and life. There was nothing he could sneak behind, nothing he could use to hide behind. He would just have to get to Farah before anyone attempted anything against her.

"Hey! What in Hades are you going here?" a man shouted as the Prince came into view. He rushed up to him, dragging a short, military-style sword from his hip.

The Prince grabbed his sword arm and swung him into the dirt, the man coughing as the wind was rushed out of his lungs. "Where the princess you kidnapped?" he demanded.

Without answering the man got to his feet, this time attacking immediately. Their swords clashed with a heavy metallic clank. The Prince's arm vibrated with the force of the meeting of sword. His leg shot out to kick the man and the kidnapper had to release his hold on his sword to dodge it.

He rushed forward and vaulted over the kidnapper, planting his feet on the older man's chest and flipping himself over his back. The sharp silver of his sword cut into the man's back, sending a wave of blood splashing against the sun bleached dirt. When his feet landed gracefully on the ground he grabbed the back collar of his foe's shirt and threw him into the air.

"Tell me where she is!"

The man hurriedly climbed to his feet, but instead of going back to fighting with the Prince, he made a dash for the tent behind them.

He moved to follow the man when he was suddenly surrounded. Grimy, filthy men all carrying short, military swords rushed at him. The Prince cursed and vaulted over a man to his left, attempting to cut another the back. This man was faster than the one the Prince had fought previously and turned to parry him.

There was a growl somewhere deep in his throat. His green gaze measured each of his foes in annoyance. "I do not have time for this."

His hands planted themselves on the ground as he flipped himself over to the nearest enemy. With a strong uppercut, he knocked the sword from the man's hand. When his opponent stopped to blink in surprise, the Prince delivered a strong kick to the soft give of his stomach. The kidnapper gave a groan and crumbled to the floor.

"Fine then. I'll fight all of you!" he said as the kidnappers tried once more to surround him. They failed at the attempt again and he cart-wheeled away from them, sword swinging before he had even fully landed on his feet.

Movement out the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned his head to glance over his shoulder.

Two figures cloaked in shadows were making their way up the steep bluff leading to the mountain. One was dragging the other one, the shorter one. They moved out of the shadows and the Prince saw who they were.

"FARAH!"

--&--

Ratscrew lay bleeding at the foot of their tent and Farah was being dragged away by Anthria. She had already decided to try to escape in the chaos of the attack, but she couldn't do that with her mouth covered and her wrist firmly gripped.

She struggled against Anthria's binding grip. Why wouldn't the woman let her go? She had said that the Spartan king was a harsh and cruel man. Why wouldn't she give Farah the chance to escape?

Because… Farah realized… she had said she was in service to her god master. Anthria was a cold, harsh woman and she would see her duty finished. Even if it meant handing an innocent girl over to a tyrant and starting a war.

"No!" she cried, her voice muffled against Anthria's palms. She shook her head, trying to dislodge her mouth from Anthria's grip.

The blonde woman jerked her head to look into Farah's dark eyes. "Silence!" She released Farah's mouth to withdraw one of her curved swords from her back. The silver sliced through the thin, cloth of the tent and created an opening at the back. Anthria thrust Farah through it before following herself.

"We'll climb the mountains," Anthria muttered, mostly to herself. Her dark eyes scanned the high, jagged walls. Farah tried to pull away but Anthria's grip on her wrist tightened. "Go!"

What choice did she have? Anthria took the lead, dragging a reluctant Farah behind her. They raced up the jagged rocks of the mountain, Farah grateful for the leather sandals cloaking her feet. Anthria kept a firm hand on her wrist even as they stumbled and climbed up the mountain.

"FARAH!"

At the sound of her name, Farah gasped. She tried to jerk away, to see who had called her, but Anthria refused to turn around. So the princess turned her head toward the call, praying to catch a glimpse of her would-be rescuer.

Her captors had surrounded someone in the center of their camp. Their bodies were dark, covered in the shadow of the mountain. Farah watched as one of them went down. A lean, athletic shadow jumped from the circle and she saw the silver glint of a sword in the man's hand.

Who was the shadowed figure? And why did it feel as if she should recognize him? There was something oddly familiar about the way her supposed rescuer moved. Gracefully and determinedly. It was like watching a scene from a forgotten dream, vaguely rising from the recesses of her mind.

"Who—" the rest of her words were locked in her throat as Anthria thrust her up the remaining feet of the mountain.

They came to a small alcove overlooking the rest of the valley below them. It had a jagged edge, extending into a fine tip, and a flat plateau. The dirt was light and dusty, spinning the sunlight like a low cloud. Farah coughed lightly on it as Anthria released her hand.

With her newly freed hand she withdrew her other sword and faced the path they had climbed. "I'll fight him when he comes… I'll kill him." Her eyes had hardened to unfeeling stone and Farah felt suddenly, strangely afraid.

She wasn't going to wait around to see just how dangerous the woman had become. Farah wheeled around just as a strong wind whipped at her skirt. She made a mad dash for the bottom of the mountain. _Please let him be here to rescue me… please let him be here to rescue me…_

"Farah, don't..." Anthria started to reach for Farah's arm, to drag her back, but suddenly her hand fell limp to her side, pale against her pale chiton.

Farah kept on running. Running until she saw _it_ raising from the ground…

If it was a person, it was malnourished person. Skin hung loosely from its bones and had taken on a light green color. The person was tall, the tallest she had ever seen, and walked as if he had not used legs for a lifetime. A dead, hollow look was in his eyes and he had slack-jawed look on his face, the skin peeling to reveal cheekbones.

"What are those things?" Farah demanded as she recoiled in shock. Bile rose up in her throat at the disgusting sight. She had never _seen_ anything like this before. They were like corpses taken from the grave…

"Ares… his horde…" Anthria muttered and grabbed Farah's arm. "Stay away from them. They will eat your flesh and drink your blood…" She pushed Farah behind her and the young woman was too shocked to protest.

The thing howled inhumanly as it lunged.

--&--

There were only three left and, the Prince thought as his eyes scanned each of his opponents, they were weakening. He raised his sword in warning.

"Move out of my way and I won't kill you," he promised. The kidnappers sent him an incredulous look and he almost groaned. _Just my luck. She would be kidnapped by people who actually honor their jobs._

"We ain't movin' for you, kid." The bearded man smiled at him, his yellow teeth paler than his skin. "By the time you get through us _she'll_ have already gotten the Princess far away from ye. And I wouldn't want to mess with _her_."

"We'll see about that," the Prince muttered as he lunged at the man. The bearded man, wheezing from his extension, rolled away from the young Persian. "Though I hate to attack old men."

"Don't you worry about me!" the old man said with a malicious grin on his craggy face. His military sword glittered like fine silver in the light. "I can hold my own."

Before the Prince could think of a smart reply the man's face shifted. The Prince relaxed his fighting stance to stare in confusion.

There was a look of bewilderment on the old man's face. As if to the Prince: why? Why me? Then the old man looked down at his chest, his mouth opening to make small gurgling sounds.

The Prince knew his face twisted in disgust when sharp, needle-like claws burst through the old man's stomach. Blood splayed over the sand, slashing across the bottom of the Prince's pants. He almost screamed, but had lost his voice in the shock of the sudden, harsh fate dealt to the old man.

Paralyzed, the Prince had no choice but to watch as the old man was raised high. A hellish creature growled behind him, blood dripping down its arm. Its eyes were dark and beady and dead, framed by limp, green sockets. It grabbed the old man and pulled him down, dragging the poor man's neck back.

"Argh!" the Prince managed as the creature bit into the tender flesh where neck met shoulder. He blanched and backed away as the demonic creature feasted. Blood dribbled down its chin as it released the limp and lifeless old man.

_Now_ the kidnappers began to retreat. They grabbed their fallen comrades—the one that had met merciful fates by the Prince—and made a dash for the hills. However, their fates would not be so fortunate.

More hell creatures rose from the ground. As the kidnappers tried to flee, they were ambushed by the demons. Their screams filled the air as one by one they fell as prey to the creatures of hell.

With a wild battle cry, the Prince lunged. He vaulted over the creature and it started dumbly up at him. He brought his sword done into the creature's back, stabbing it as deep as he could in its spine.

They were different from the Sand Creatures the Prince had fought once. He could tell it instantly. Their skin was like stone, almost impossible to penetrate. It took all the strength he could muster to lodge the sword fully into the creature's backside. They were strong, too strong. The Prince wondered who had the power to make them.

The creature gave a small howl of pain before grabbing the sword in its spine and ripping it out. It made a terrible, tearing sound. The Prince cursed vigorously as the hell creature raised him off the ground, gripping the metal of his sword. Then, it threw the Prince clear across the camping sight, sending him crashing into the tent.

_This doesn't make sense… I can't kill it… it's like stone…_ the Prince thought as his head spun in pain. The fabric of the tent collapsed around him and, moaning softly, he pushed it off of him and climbed to his feet.

In the distance he thought he heard a scream. Remembering suddenly, the Prince jerked his gaze over to the mountain. His dreamy green gaze had hardened as he searched for Farah.

And there she was, silhouetted by the sun. There were three creatures by her and the last remaining kidnapper was there as well. Farah had no weapons and had to rely on the strength of her captor to stay alive. But it was three against one and the kidnapper was drawn away from Farah.

The creatures sensed an easy target and made their way to Farah.

"Farah!" the Prince shouted and ignored his hellish foe. He turned and tried to climb the mountain, to protect her. He had failed once before to save Farah. He wouldn't fail again. This time he would be there in time…

_Time…_

"Farah!"

--&--

Farah wished desperately that she had some weapon. The creatures attacked them, she and Anthria, and it was Anthria that had to do all the fighting. She was the only one with swords and any skill with them.

She hated it, relying on this woman. Anthria was only doing it so she could hand Farah over to the Spartan king. There she would become his mistress… his _whore_. There was no kindness in the Spartan woman.

But Farah would escape, she would have to. When the opportunity presented itself she would run from Anthria. There was only one of the kidnappers now. The rest had fled. There would be time for Farah to escape her imposing fate.

For now she would have to rely on Anthria to keep her save. If she did not Farah would become victim to the horrible creatures that attacked them.

Anthria growled as one of the creatures threw its sagging body at her. Her back hit the ground and she planted her feet on the creature's chest, sending flying over her head. It crashed at Farah's feet and the young woman backed away fearfully.

Then the growl caught her attention. A creature had finally realized how unprotected and weak she was and had decided to choose her as its prey. She screamed as it lunged at her and dropped to her knees, causing it to flying headfirst into the ground.

When she managed to gain shakily to her feet she saw the creature laying at an odd angle on its neck. _Its neck has got to be broken… especially at that angle…_ she thought. But almost immediately after the thought had left her head the creature climbed to his feet, hissing at the back his throat.

Farah jumped away from it, backing away as it stalked her. What could she do? No matter how many times she could dodge the creature, she still had no weapon to defend herself with. Eventually she would be caught.

Call Anthria? Farah looked over at the blonde Spartan. The woman was battling the two creatures by herself. Her twin, curved swords with swishing in the air, the silver glittering like deadly metal in the new sun.

She wasn't going to be able to help Farah. Anthria was too busy with her own problems.

The creature grabbed her by her arm, her claws biting in her flesh. She screamed and kicked, trying to free herself. Pointed teeth shone in the sun as the creature's mouth expanded. Farah's knee shot up and connected with the demonic thing's chin. It dropped her and she fled from it, running until she reached the stone wall of the mountain.

It was relentless, this creature. The minute she was backed into a corner it came after her again. She braced herself against the stone wall, ready to lunge and fight if that was necessary. She had to stay alive until Anthria could help her.

But what chance did she have against this creature?

When the creature lunged at her once more, Farah raised her hand to ward off his attack. It was useless, she knew. But her human instincts would not allow her to give into death so easily.

But then—

"Farah!"

The voice was strangely familiar. She gasped and opened her eyes, looking toward the owner of the voice. A young man, his features a blur, flipped over the head of the creature, bringing a curved sword down hard on creature's neck. It howled as blood splattered out from its neck, crumpling to the ground.

Her rescuer turned and Farah gasped, her hand sneaking up to press against her mouth. His green gaze locked with her dark one and it was as if someone had stolen all the air around them. She could hardly breathe.

But then she managed to say. "_You_."

Because it was him. It was the strange, Persian soldier from her balcony two years ago. The man that had haunted her dreams in the space of their separation. The man who had revealed to her the betrayal of the Vizier.

He held out his hand and Farah hesitated. Could she really trust him? He was a Persian, she was Indian. They were enemies by all means. But he had saved her before and he was her best bet for freedom.

"Come on!" the Prince said and Farah stared down at his powerful hand. She took a deep breath. Even if this was the worst option she had, it was one she chose. And that it made it much better.

She placed her small hand in his.

"Get onto my back!" the Prince commanded as a small smile stretched his lips. Farah stared at him as if he had grown too heads.

"What?" she demanded and then glanced over as a howl reached her ear. She watched as the hellish creature made its way toward her again. "Alright." The Prince turned and faced the mountain wall and Farah, climbing onto his back, locking her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

He started to climb, the muscles in his bared arms rippling as he gripped one stone and lifted himself to another. Farah glanced up. Was there another plateau for them to escape unto? She hoped so. She hoped the strange man who had become her rescuer actually had a plan.

Suddenly, the Prince stopped moving. He cursed and they both glanced down. Anthria gripped the Prince's clothe-covered ankle. She had one sword resting at her feet and one in her hand.

"You will not take her," Anthria pointed out to them.

"I am!" the Prince retorted and tried to shake his foot loose. A small pebble dropped down beside Farah's cheek and she glanced up. A gasp caught and locked in her throat at what she saw.

Three more hellish creatures, crawling down the side of the mountain. They were _trapped_. What could she do?

A demonic creature rushed at Anthria and the woman had no choice but to release the Prince's ankle. She kicked up her sword with her foot and caught it, swinging her sword to block the claws.

The Prince started to climb again but stopped when he finally took note of the creatures scaling down the stone wall. He cursed.

Farah blinked and glanced down. Pressing against her side was a bow. She could _use_ a bow. "Lift your arm!" she commanded and the Prince glanced over at her behind his shoulder.

"What?"

"Your bow. I'll use it!" The Prince lifted his right arm, holding it out in the air. Farah dragged the bow off his back and plucked an arrow from the holster at the Prince's side. She notched it and fired.

It caught one of the creature's in the neck. It screamed and lost its grip on the stone wall, crashing onto the hard ground beneath them. She notched and fired another arrow but the creatures were ready for her now. It took a hit in the leg but it managed to keep its grip.

The Prince reached out and locked a hand on its ankle, pulling it from the wall. At the same time Farah notched another bow and sent it sailing at the last creature. It hit the creature in the back and it slid down, but managed to grab hold of the wall again. Farah grabbed his bald head, pushing it into the rocks. The Prince took the moment to grab his ankle and push him down to the ground once more.

"It's all clear!" Farah shouted to him, tapping his shoulder. She kept her grip on the bow, just in case they weren't out of the clear yet. But there weren't anymore creatures on the wall with them.

He nodded and became to climb again, gritting his teeth in pain as he lifted them both up the mountain. Farah kept a firm grip on his neck, trying to make sure it was loose enough so as to not choke him.

She dared to glance down at Anthria. The Spartan woman was engaged in battle with the creatures and blood was splattered along her face. Her teeth her bared in a snarl as she flipped and sliced at her enemy.

_I'm not sorry about leaving her. She was going to give me to Sparta's king_, Farah told herself when she felt guilt pinch her heart. She pushed it away, barred it from her mind. Anthria was her enemy.

But then again, wasn't the Prince?

Farah pressed her face into the Prince's neck and, with her arms throbbing, prayed it would be over soon.

* * *

**Story notes:** none, as of now, except that no one is sure if Troy was an actual city or not. If it was, it is believed to be somewhere in modern-day Turkey. 

**Reviews**

**Sorceress Cassandra180:** this is also a cliffhanger, but a filling one nonetheless. There are a _lot_ of cliffhangers in this story.

**flamma:** that's how I normally spell Menelaus, but my computer 'fixed' it for me. Anyway, Anthria's hair color is a champagne blonde—that's what I was aiming for—however there _are_ streak of gray in it, from age and worry, and Farah's description of it comes from the fact that she has never seen blonde hair before.

**Specter Von Baron:** then the fact that your review is short is a good thing! Yay!

**bluetinkerbell:** I always try to make my OCs have a strong, solid personalities—I dread the Mary Sue curse. The story shouldn't be about the OCs is my opinion. The OCs should be there only to help the original characters and progress the story further. Anthria is one of my personal favourites. Her characters—as you will see—if just so… unfortunate and shadowed…

**sakuhin:** don't be too made at me for late updates. It's my schedule, you know?

**Love-Hate-and-Need:** I'm glad you like it. I _am_ working very hard on it. I hope you continue to support it by reviewing.

**Sir-Yukina:** really? Hmm. I've played through SoT I dunno how many times and I never noticed. Oh well. I'll fix it someday… later. For now, let's call it artistic license. XD

**Sakura123:** yeah. About those… paragraphs. When I'm writing and I'm describing something… I dunno. I can't seem to stop. I just go on and on. You think this is bad? You should have seen my English essay on a red rose. Three pages. One rose. Of course, I did get an A.

**Fire-youkai28:** the previews were an experiment of mine. I'm glad you like it. I like doing them to. Gets me excited as well.

**Next Chapter Preview**

…_But the minute she sat up, her back tensed. She withdrew her sword from their sheaths on her back and wheeled around, snarling. A large, powerful hand caught her wrist and Anthria released her sword, blinking._

"_Oh, you," she muttered._

_He released a hearty laugh, throwing his black mane of hair back. "Don't sound so happy to see me." His long fingers touched her cheek. "You never were happy to see me, as I remember it."_

_She shook her head and jumped from the rock, sheathing her swords. "I will never thank you for my life."_

"_Of course," the dark-haired, dark-eyed man replied and shrugged like it mattered nothing to him. And, considering who he was, he probably didn't. "But I didn't do it for your thanks. I do it because I needed a job down and you seemed like the best candidate. I never do things for other people."…_

… The man… pale and twisted on his bed, the white sheets dyed red… with blood…

No.

She doesn't want to remember. She doesn't want to think about what has happened. All she wants to do was stay in the darkness.

The woman… knife in hand, thrown over table… her hair matted with crimson.

No!

The boy… the boy…

Yes.

"_I will not die by betrayal," she hissed but slackened her body._


	6. Parting Ways

**Disclaimer:** I've been known to say on occasion that I own PoP… but I'm probably lying

**Spoilers:** see prologue

**Author's Notes:** here's another rather belated update… sorry. It's also kinda of a filler chapter, more of a look into Anthria and her dynamics. Sorry, again. But on a brighter note… played PoP: T2T. Pretty awesome game. I like Kaileena's voice… soothing almost. And well… _Farah_…

**Warnings:** more blood! Yay! Also, some graphic violence (if you're faint at heart that is…)

* * *

_/Chapter Five: Parting Ways/_

"**But not to call me back to say goodbye;  
****And further still at an unearthly height,  
****A luminary clock against the sky  
****Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.  
****I have been one acquainted with the night."  
**-Robert Frost, "Acquainted with the Night"

* * *

Anthria cursed as pain burst at her side. She glanced down and saw the hell demon of Ares had managed to dig its claws into her flesh. It tore into her thin, papery chiton and dug its sharp talons into the tender flesh of her side.

She growled and brought her sword up, pressing it into the stone-like chin of the creature with all her might. Blood splattered across her arm, staining it red, as the creature released her arm in pain. She spun around and her second blade came up and around, swiftly decapitating it.

A small patter of blood splashed against her cheeks and she didn't bother rubbing it off. The limp, headless body dropped to the floor immediately, its head rolling along the dirt ground.

Four were down, only two to go. And one was already weakened, constantly being hindered by the arrow lodged in his throat. The other was relatively unharmed, the loose skin already sheathing its arrow wound.

With a fierce battle cry she lunged at the less injured one. The sharp metal of her swords met the beast's claws and a bright spark of light jolted between them. Her leg shot out and kicked the creature hard in the stomach. Anthria grabbed him by the shoulder and threw him to the ground, kicking up dirt in the process.

Silver burst in her hand as she threw her left sword into the air. With a swing it came down and the creature stopped moving beneath her. Blood dyed the sand and she bent down, gulping down mighty breaths of air.

Then she turned and went to the weakened creature. It was trying to pull the arrow from its throat. Anthria grabbed it and yanked the arrow out, seconds later slicing its head off. Weakly, she watched it roll to the floor.

Glancing up toward the high wall of the mountain, she saw that Farah had made her escape with the mysterious young man.

Just who was he? And why had he been so concerned with rescuing Farah?

It didn't matter, she supposed. Anthria would have to go after them and collect Farah. The young man would likely engage her in battle no doubt, and so she would have to rest and prepare herself for the battle. The young man looked like an excellent swordsman, from what she had seen.

Almost stumbling, Anthria tentatively made her way down the rocky mountain. She gripped her ribs and blood seeped between the gaps of her fingers. Her vision blackened with dots and she shook her head to clear it.

After what seemed like hours, but could only have been moments, Anthria reached her decimated camp. She grabbed the thin fabric of the tent and ripped off a long piece of it. She bounded the wound at her side, gritting her teeth at the pain the pressure gave her.

_Think of something else… this is nothing…_

When she was done binding her wounds, she found Ratscrew's body among the cloth of the tent. She drew him away from the marquee and stared down into his opened, horrified eyes. "At least your death was a quicker one. The others did not fair so well, I think."

She didn't blame her crew for trying to escape when they had the chance. If she had been like them, she perhaps would have fled as well. But it didn't matter anymore, did it? The creatures would not let such easy prey escape their clutches.

"I'll bring them to you," Anthria muttered as she dragged Ratscrew's heavy, limp body toward the campfire that had been doused hours ago. "And you can go to the River(1) together. Just wait."

With a small sigh, she left Ratscrew's bloodied and lifeless form on the ground and went to seek out his fellow comrades. She found them not far from the campsite, their bodies torn apart by the jagged claws and teeth of the creatures. _They were cruel, harsh people but they did not deserve to die like they did._

One by one, she dragged them over to the campfire, ignoring the pain in her side every time she did so. She hadn't cared for any of them, these roughens, but they had done their job and had tried to finish their duties. They deserved their funeral rites.

She placed each corpse side by side along the circle of the dead campfire. From the bearded man's pocket in his tunic—_sad, really. I never got his name, too late now I suppose_—she found a small sack of coins. She would have used her own for the duty, but she had spent the last of her gold on Farah's sandals in Troy…

_And now she's gone… I'll have to get her back…_

There were five bodies all together. Coolly, Anthria withdrew from the thin pouch ten silver coins. She placed two in each man's face, one on every eye(2). When she was done she stood and stared at them, offering them a prayer. _May the River Styx be kind to you all._ They were doomed for Tartarus—as she was as well—but she still prayed for their peace. Death was something to be welcomed, not feared.

_I would trade places with you if I could…_

But for now she had to keep on living. Anthria stared down at her hand and tried to image what it was supposed to look like, but all she could see the pale, smooth skin of her palm. They it had been like it for so long…

Ignoring the grim thoughts that pressed against her head, she gathered what pieces of wood she could find around the camp and covered the dead bodies in them. She found two, flat stones and stuck them together. Sparks fell from them and on the third try the wood caught fire.

Dispassionately, she watched as the flames leaped to life. The smell of burning flesh was ripe in the air but it hardly bothered her. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared into the twisting red flames. Heat pressed against her face and reflected in her dark, opaque eyes.

Fire was a part of her life. She had seen so many things burn. Cities, people, lives, homes. It symbolized for her death and terror and destruction. Fiery hands gripping lives and ruining them.

At the same time she yearned for the fire to take her. She yearned for the end of the nightmares, for the end of her life. And yet, she was in a tunnel with no clear end. Forever would she walk it, not allowed entrance to Hades but not allowed to be a full living person.

It was her curse but one she had come to live with. Her hatred fueled her. One day she would have her revenge. She yearned for that day and, at the same time, dreaded it. For when she had her revenge what would be there for her? She would have nothing, no reason to live, and yet she would not be able to die.

She turned from the fire and picked up the discarded materials of their camp. She tossed them onto the burning fire, giving it more power and oxygen. A plume of black smoke wormed its way into the sky, darkening the area around her.

The only thing from the camp she kept was a rucksack with a few necessary materials. Food, water, a map, and the rest of the coins the bearded man had on him. She would need money when she reached Troy for more supplies to track down Farah.

The fire brought memories back, sad memories that she hated to let resurface.

_An innocent look home… tainted by the destroyed walls and the fire lapping at its doorframes… the bodies hanging…_

_Athens… burning… a plume of black smoke rising from it, a parasite in its skin…_

_The bright blue eyes staring at her from the dark places… whispering… whispering…_

Anthria shivered, the thoughts making gooseflesh rise on her skin. She bit her lip and drew the thoughts back into the subconscious of her mind. They had been put behind her. They were nothing to her. But why wouldn't they fade from her memory?

Trying to take her mind from the thought plaguing her, she turned her attention to the creatures that had caused the failure of her mission.

They were Ares's, no doubt about it. She had seen them a few times before, had worked with them a few times before. Ares had simply taken dead soldiers and forced them to do his bidding.

_So_, Anthria thought bitterly, _he's betrayed us? Why is it the gods can never cease to quarrel amongst themselves?_

Had Ares told his minors to kill Farah? Anthria didn't know. It was impossible to guess what the creatures he commanded were thinking. Their heads were empty, brains long shut down. They only did as they were ordered by Ares and even then, they often took the long road to meet their goals.

"Does this mean it will be a war between the gods?" Anthria almost shook her head. "Why is it whenever the gods work together it always turns out bad for the mortals?"

She waited until the sun had set and the fire had died down before she started to move again. She left behind the smell of ashes and burning flesh and rotting roads.

Anthria knew she would probably go after Farah, but she decided she would give the princess a chance to escape. There was no doubt in her mind that she would catch the girl. It was just a matter of when and how.

_The Spartans can wait…_ Anthria thought and cast her eyes to the sky. Dark clouds bloomed along the skyline. _There may not even be a war if the gods cannot stop fighting amongst themselves._

Her feet pounded against the dirt ground as she started to run. Her side screamed in protest and she touched her bondage, feeling the slimy warmth of blood seeping through the brown cloth.

It would heal soon, she knew. That was one of her gifts, but at the moment she felt every rip and tear of her wound. She was dizzy with pain.

"Alright, alright," she muttered to herself and, as she escaped the smells of her destroyed camp, lowered herself onto a large, flat rock. She curled up on it as the moon drifted into the sky. Her eyes drifted closed and she laid flat on her back.

For what seemed like hours she rested on the rock, feeling her skin begin to heal over her wound. The skin stretched over the cut and her blood clotted along her wound. When the incision was fully healed it would look like an old, gray scar.

When she finally managed to open her eyes once more, the sun had just become to win its battle with the moon. She felt its warm rays bathing her skin and sighed at the small pleasure it gave her. In her life, there only were small pleasures. And even then, they were often daunted by something darker.

The wound on her side throbbed slightly, but it wasn't bleeding anymore. Anthria left the bandage on it, not wanting to expose the newly healed wound to the air. And the rip in her chiton was large enough to show off her pale skin inappropriately.

But the minute she sat up, her back tensed. She withdrew her sword from their sheaths on her back and wheeled around, snarling. A large, powerful hand caught her wrist and Anthria released her sword, blinking.

"Oh, you," she muttered.

He released a hearty laugh, throwing his black mane of hair back. "Don't sound so happy to see me." His long fingers touched her cheek. "You never _were_ happy to see me, as I remember it."

She shook her head and jumped from the rock, sheathing her swords. "I will never thank you for my life."

"Of course," the dark-haired, dark-eyed man replied and shrugged like it mattered nothing to him. And, considering who he was, he probably didn't. "But I didn't do it for your thanks. I do it because I needed a job done and you seemed like the best candidate. I never do things for other people."

Hades laughed again, his darkly handsome face lit with his twisted humor. He was the Lord of the Underworld, the true bringer of Death. Mortals had no choice but to bow to him. Everyone eventually had to meet Death and Hades, in his dark thorny throne, was the one they had to meet. There was a mockingly kind nature to him, smiles that hinted at the evil that lurked beneath. Hades was as he had been created, a creature of death. Death could be beautiful and ugly at the same time and Hades matched his occupation.

And Anthria, at her core, hated him. This tall, dark, and handsome immortal was the god she was in service to. His will was her will and she had no choice but to do his bidding. She was his to command until he saw otherwise.

It was he who had taken her soul and bounded it to himself. It was he who had forced Anthria to look into the darkness and live within it. And it was also Hades who had offered her the chance to gain vengeance on those who had done her wrong.

"I know you don't," Anthria answered as she backed away form him. She took a deep breath and steadied herself. "Ares has betrayed you, my lord. He sent his minors to kill Princess Farah. She escaped with a mysterious young man and the kidnappers were all killed."

"Did Ares now…?" Hades said conversationally as he idly flipped a tiny ball of light around on his fingers. A smile broke across his face and there was something wrong with it.

"Yes, he—" Anthria caught off, her eyes narrowing. There was something wrong about how Hades acted. He always seemed to be acting wrong, but when Hades was betrayed his anger was undeniable.

She cursed suddenly and grabbed the swords she had left resting on the ground. Without breaking her momentum she pressed the edges of her blades against the smooth, tanned throat of Hades.

Calmly, Hades raised a dark eyebrow and chuckled under his breathing. "Going to kill me, Anthria?"

He was mocking her, Anthria knew that. She could tell by the light in his eyes, a white, impure brightness in a suffocated dark. It was impossible to kill a god, they both knew that. The gods were as old as time and would continue to live on while everything around them died and withered with age.

Without warning, Hades lifted his hand. A gust of force pressed into her stomach. Anthria gasped in pain as she was thrown across the dirt ground. She skidded into the ground, the air escaping her body as her back slammed down, peddles biting into her tender flesh. She cursed loudly as Hades stood and walked over to her.

"Such a mouth for a woman," Hades said calmly as he brushed imaginary dirt from his tunic and breeches. "But I suppose _that's_ to be expected."

"You betrayed… _me_," Anthria hissed angrily, gritting her teeth at the pain low in her stomach. Her swords were clutched defiantly in her hands. She might not be able to kill Hades but she would fight him. She would not take being betrayed lightly.

"I didn't want to," Hades pointed out as he placed his sandals against Anthria's stomach. She growled up at him. "But you're too reckless, too unpredictable. If you weren't so hell-bent on revenge then… but Ares and I can't afford your recklessness in the coming weeks."

"You—you won't stop me from… my revenge!" she rasped and tried to kick herself free from beneath Hades's boot. The god used his power to keep her pressed against the ground.

He smiled down at her, keeping his sandal firmly in place. "When I found you, you were seeking death. Well, now I've decided to give it to you."

She remembered it. That day.

_The raging sea beneath her, the dark storm clouds above her, the howls and cries for help around her. The smell of blood and decay, of fear and sweat. And of Death… oh, so much Death…_

_A beast curls its long, lean neck, the bluish scales rippling along its body. Blood dribbles down from its long, pointed nails._

_Sensation after sensation on her skin. None good. The warmth of blood flows from her neck, the feeling of nails biting into the tender flesh there. The pain, the mind-numbing pain. The promise, the _feel_, of Death._

"_Can't die…"_

_But she is, dying. Dying because of the blood pooling around her, flowing steadily from her neck. She is on the wooden ground. Had she fallen? Everything around her is a dark blur of pain._

_She moans, raising her sword and stabs it as hard as she can into the darkness in front of her. There is a resistance and she thrusts her sword pass it. Blood falls across her chest and she is dimly aware of a howl. But it is somewhere far away, distant. It doesn't matter where she is._

_It is cold here, so cold that her entire body goes numb. She almost shivers expect that her body doesn't seem to be able to answer. She is swimming in an endless darkness. It is a wonderful feeling. A place where her mind isn't haunted by the memories, where nothing matters except stroking through the inky blackness of her mind._

_But then the memories return to her. She sees them flashing in her mind, a thousand volts of electricity running up her arms. It is as if someone was dragging her back, dragging her to the light. She struggles against it, against the returning, the memories. But they press against her skull and there is no escape._

_The man… pale and twisted on his bed, the white sheets dyed red… with blood…_

_No._

_She doesn't want to remember. She doesn't want to think about what has happened. All she wants to do was stay in the darkness._

_The woman… knife in hand, thrown over table… her hair matted with crimson._

_No!_

_The boy… the boy…_

_Yes._

"I will not die by betrayal," she hissed but slackened her body. Hades blinked down at her sudden defeat and his power loosened on her. Anthria spun her blades up and around as her legs shot out. The silver swords caught Hades's arm and Anthria was allowed to jump away.

"I taught you well," Hades mumbled as he touched the small trail of blood that flowed down his arm. Just as quickly as it had appeared, it disappeared, leaving not a mark. "Too well perhaps."

She stayed crouched in a fighting position. "I may wish to die, Hades. But there is something I must do first. I know he _is_ alive and I will see to it that he is dead. Nothing can stop me. Not you or your bloody war."

"We'll see," Hades retorted and formed in his hands a long, jagged sword. It was wide and powerful, black like the strongest midnight. He lunged and Anthria rolled away, panting heavily.

There was no way she could win in a fight with him. He was not only a god but an excellent swordsman. He had taught her a few moves as well, improving on her soldier's fighting style to give her more finesse and skills. And not only that but he had his Olympian power.

All she could do was fight until she ran out of strength. And then Hades would give her his promised death.

"You kept me alive… when I rather be dead," Anthria growled as she and Hades circled each other. "And now, when I have a reason to live, you would take it from me?"

Hades shrugged and sent another burst of power at her. Anthria cursed as she was forced into a dead, leafless tree. She gripped the back and held herself up against the bark. Hades had also taught her how to hold out against magick, another lesson of his. She didn't hesitate to turn it against him.

She let herself become part of the magick, let it flow over her. It was like tangled spider webs, gossamer and clingy. The dangerous stuff pushed itself against her skin but she was braced for it, ready to accept it, and its power was neutralized.

"I will not die until I have my revenge," Anthria growled, and pushed herself against the magick force. She growled at Hades before she threw herself down the dirt road. As she ran, she allowed her voice to carry through the air. "And Hades, you will pay for what you did to me."

With a small laugh Hades watched her go and decided not to give chase. Let the woman go… she wasn't his problem anymore. "So angry, my little Spartan. When will you learn that that's your problem?"

It was a game to the god. An elaborate game of cat and mouse. Soon it would become real but for now Hades was pleased to enjoy the game. Anthria would make and interesting component of it. No doubt she would be back—to extract her 'revenge'—and when she returned he would kill her.

For now he would track down Ares and relate to him the information Anthria had given him before she had realized his betrayal. Farah hadn't been meant to die—she was promised to the King of Sparta for his corporation—and she would be needed as well. Of course, Hades would convince Ares to do the taking himself… the creatures of his were not nearly controllable enough.

It wouldn't be hard to find the war god. Hades knew exactly where the immortal would be…

Sparta.

--&--

Panting from her run and the drain of her energy from the magick that had attacked her system, Anthria managed to make it to the ruins of Troy.

The former grand city had been only moderately been rebuilt. People had erected small homes and merchant stands over the ruins, but other than that the decimated city remained untouched.

A small, two-story home doubled as an inn. Anthria stumbled up the steps and entered the small bar in the front room. She walked over to the long table of the bar and took a seat, waiting to be served.

"What can I get you?" the barmaid asked, obviously a little put off by Anthria's tattered clothes and disheveled hair.

"A room," Anthria answered and threw down the pouch of coins she had. "And some new clothes if you can spear them." The woman nodded, testing the weight of the money in Anthria's pouch.

"Follow me."

She was led to a small, wooden room that was empty save for a small cot low on the floor. Anthria didn't care. She shut and locked the door, lowering herself onto the cot. She pulled the covered over her head and went about healing her wounds.

Hades hadn't chased after her. She wondered vaguely why he hadn't and then decided she didn't care. For now she had to focus on healing. And then she would think about everything else.

Sighing deeply, Anthria drifted to sleep.

* * *

**notes:** (1) referring to the River Styx, the river that separates the land of the living from the dead. It is said to wind around Hades (the Underworld) about nine times. It is said to be so foul that even if a god drank from it, he/she would lose her voice for nine years. Oddly enough, the River Styx is what gave Achilles his immortality… kinda a paradox, no?

(2) placing coins on the eyes of the dead was a common Greek practice. It was believed that Charon, the ferryman who navigates the River Styx, would only take souls with two gold coins across the river. Thus, the living placed two coins on the eyes of the dead. The souls who did not have those coins were forced to wander the banks of the River Styx for all eternity.

Reviews 

**Specter Von Baron:** I get those previews to… well, mostly tease. But I thinks its nifty how people form their opinions of what they think is going to happen next and that I get to show them if they're right or wrong.

**bluetinkerbell: **it's very hard to escape the Mary Sue curse. I mostly make sure that they don't fall in love with a major character (especially if he/she has a boyfriend) and I make them flawed… extremely flawed. Anthria is _way_ to old to be interested in the Prince and she's not interested in romance at all, as you'll see later. And as for Farah… I didn't mind the damsel-in-distress part of her. It was never really a problem in SoT for me. She's an independent woman and I think if her actions weren't based by the computer she would have been more of an asset. I, for one, would love to use a bow!

**Sakura123:** I guess this chapter isn't nearly as exciting and as gripping as the last… but this was an actually necessary chapter. After all, I don't want to make Anthria suddenly a main character with an actual personality without the reader ever seeing it coming. That would just piss them off.

**ChatterBox101:** I felt bad for Kaileena in PoP: T2T… somewhat… anyway, the whole plot with the Spartan King _will_ be explained. And if you still don't get it after that, I'll be happy to explain it too you. K?

**dynast:** you're about to find out that my updates are… not the fastest things in the world. School, you?

**paochu:** ooooh… a Frenchie, huh? Well, welcome! I'm glad you're enjoying this. I try to keep everything written and edited to the best of my abilities!

**Maneesh:** there's probably going to be near twenty chapters in this thing and I _am_ a slow updater… er… I'm thinking finished sometime next year? Hey, consider yourself lucky. My Jak readers know what it is to wait.

**The One and Only Red Wulf Riot:** yes, I heard about Schliemann discovery, but I was under the impression that they never actually officially disclosed it as Troy, correct? As far as the god's earthly incarnations… you'll see them… but when I'm not telling XD

**Next Chapter Preview**

_…"You're bleeding."_

_"What?" Farah was drawn from her daze by the regal tone of voice. She glanced up at the young man as he knelt down beside her. Slowly, he reached out and touched her arm. She glanced down at it, saw the blood still flowing from the wound. "Oh, one of those… those things attacked me."_

_"I'll bind it," the Prince answered and pulled off a sash that was tied around his waist. He led her to the edge of the pool and doused her wound in water, wiping away the blood that caked her arm. Then he wrapped the pale blue sash around her arm. "That should do it. It wasn't too deep…"_

_She was staring at him and couldn't seem to glance away. When he looked back up at her again it was as if the entire world had stopped spinning on its axel. His green gaze was so familiar… like a long lost dream. "It is you," she heard her voice say from far away._

_"It is me?" the Prince repeated as he helped her to her feet. "What are you talking about?" His voice had a slight teasing tone to it, but there was an underlying seriousness to it. His gaze turned sharp as he waited for her answer…_

_…"Sorry to inconvenience you," Farah snapped and shrugged. "Lucky, it never gets very cold in this place."_

_"Anyway, we should be in Phoceae in less than another day. So you won't be sleeping on the ground for very long, princess." He walked away, looking for someway to create a fire. As he went, Farah heard him mumbling. "—risked my life to save hers. Didn't have to… this is the thanks I get?"_

_She rolled her eyes and plopped down on the ground. For a moment she glared at his back, making faces at him when he was looking then. Then he turned and caught her in the act. Instead of looking enraged—and Farah was ready for the verbal fight—the Prince's face twisted._

_Then suddenly, he was laughing. He fell down beside her and laughed wildly. Farah stared at him in confusion for a long moment before she felt the insane laughter bubbling at her throat as well. Unable to control herself, she leaned against his shoulder and laughed with him._

_The Prince wiped tears from the corner of his eyes and stood when at least the laughter had died down. "I'll—I'll find some wood."_

_Farah nodded and replied, "I'll try to find something to make fire with."_


	7. It is You

**Disclaimer:** guess what? That's right.

**Spoilers:** see prologue

**Author's Notes:** this is the chapter I longed for. All right, not _longed_ for. That's what the real romance happens. But I've been looking forward to this chapter for a well. I'm so happy Farah and the Prince are reuniting!

**Warnings:** ah, nothing. Really. Yay! oh wait… there is _some_ blood. Don't be a wimp.

* * *

_/Chapter Six: "It is You"/_

"**But lest you be my enemy,  
****I must enquire.  
**"**O no, my dear, let all that be;  
****What matter, so there is but fire  
****In you, in me?"  
**-Yeats, "The Mask"

* * *

When they reached the top, the Prince released Farah and she slid off his back. Exhausted from the long climb, the Prince dropped to knees, his palms digging into the dirt, and tried to draw in all the breaths he had been unable to take while ascending the mountain with Farah on his back.

Meanwhile, Farah kept her bow ready and notched with an arrow. Her head whipped around as she searched for any sign of those hideous creatures that had attacked them earlier. Her shoulders slackened when she caught no sight of them.

"They're gone…" she said, not facing the Prince as he raised himself shakily to his feet. Without speaking, he handed her his holster of arrows and she locked them around her waist, slinging the bow over her back.

Then the Prince grabbed her wrist and began to drag her toward the end of the flat top of the mountain. "C'mon. That woman might come after us. We need to get far away."

Farah's arm was throbbing and she glanced down at it. Tiny rivulets of blood flowed from where the creature had clawed her. It caused pain to vibrate through her but she ignored it and forced herself to keep up with the Prince as he dragged her.

The mountain came to an end with a steep, slanted hill. Rocks jutted from the ground and the sun bleached them white. Below the mountain were actual trees, their green leaves and thick, brown bark were a welcoming sight.

"We'll have to slid down," the Prince told her and glanced her way. Farah looked pale and frightened, but her chin was angled and she looked… strong.

"Alright," she agreed, her vision darkening in fear. _We have to do this. He risked his life to save me. I need to trust him._ Without thinking, she groped for his hand. It felt strong and warm in her own. She gripped it for strength.

The Prince grabbed her waist with his free hand, pulling her close to him. Farahs other hand wrapped around his neck as they jumped onto the slope. Beneath them the rocks gave way and they slid down, losing a battle with balance the entire way. Dust rose from the ground and blinded them. Farah released his hand so she could grip the Prince's neck with both of her hands, almost screaming.

They hit the ground, but had so much momentum from sliding along the slanted mountain top that they both kept on running. The Prince had more power and ended up dragging Farah headfirst into a tree.

The princess groaned as the Prince pressed her against the tree with his body. "Oh… ow… do you think you could do that a little more softly?"

He could help it. The Prince rolled his eyes and drawled sarcastically. "Excuse me. Next time I'll just throw myself to the ground and break my neck, alright?"

Farah pushed him off of her and gripped her head. Slowly, she dropped her rump on the dirt ground. She touched the earth and blinked. The dirt was soft, moist. A forest ground. The familiarity of it was pleasing to her, to be this close to something she knew again.

The Prince held out his hand. "We can't stay here. We need to go a little further so she can't find us." Farah stared at his hand for a moment and then slowly nodded her head. She gripped his arm and he pulled her to her feet.

Together they stumbled weakly into the forest, letting the canopy of trees cover them. Farah was tired, so tired, but she was afraid to fall asleep. She didn't know anything about this man and she didn't know if she could trust him.

_But he saved me now… twice…_ Farah blinked and titled her head so she could look up at the Prince. _Yes. He has to be that soldier from my balcony that night with the Vizier… I know he is._

She heard the splash of water and turned her head away from the Prince. A small waterfall was in front of them, the crystal liquid falling into a small, sparkling pool at their feet. The Prince walked toward it and dropped to his knees, cupping the water in his hands and taking a long gulp of it.

Too weak to even think about drinking, Farah dropped onto a rock protruding from the ground beside the pool. Her neck ached and she rubbed helplessly at it. Everything was just happening too fast. She couldn't comprehend it all. Being kidnapped, then being attacked by strange creatures, then being rescued by the same man that had saved her before.

"You're bleeding."

"What?" Farah was drawn from her daze by the regal sounding voice. She glanced up at the young man as he knelt down beside her. Slowly, he reached out and touched her arm. She glanced down at it, and saw the blood still flowing from the wound. "Oh, one of those… those _things_ attacked me."

"I'll bind it," the Prince answered and pulled off a sash that was tied around his waist. He led her to the edge of the pool and doused her wound in the water, wiping away the blood that caked her arm. Then he wrapped the pale blue sash around her arm. "That should do it. It wasn't too deep…"

She was staring at him and couldn't seem to glance away. When he looked back up at her again it was as if the entire world had stopped spinning on its axis. His green gaze was so familiar… like a long lost dream. "It is you," she heard her voice say from far away.

"It is me?" the Prince repeated as he helped her to her feet. "What are you talking about?" His voice had a slight teasing tone to it, but there was an underlying seriousness to it. His gaze turned sharp as he waited for her answer.

Farah's eyes narrowed at the teasing tone and she shot her chin up defiantly. "I mean… you're the Persian from my terrace two years ago. The one who killed the Vizier. You had the fantastic story."

He dropped his gaze and Farah watched in slight surprise as a flash of sadness crossed his face. It was a handsome face, Farah supposed, and she was surprised that she hadn't noticed it before. But, of course, at the time she had been reeling from the fact that her Vizier—the loyal, old man who had served her father so well—had, in fact, been a traitor and would have sold her country to the Persian army.

"Yes," the Prince answered and moved away from her, toward the clearing of the trees. He tilted his head and examined their surroundings quietly.

Absently, Farah fiddled with the sash tied around her arm and tried not to look at the Prince. But it was hard not to. He was a handsome man, long and lean. It wasn't hard to imagine him running, nor was it hard to imagine him fighting. He moved with a grace that was not uncommon among fighters but was among soldiers.

There was a question plaguing her and it hovered on the tip of her tongue. For a moment, Farah tried to ignore the question and let silence wrap around them.

But she stood and walked over to him, stopping short of his side. "Why are you doing all this for me?" she demanded softly. He turned his head and their gazes locked again. Farah quickly looked away. It was too strange looking into his eyes, like staring into a looking glass that was too blurry to truly make out.

"Why? Why do you ask that?"

His voice sounded as if she was asking a most ridiculous question. Farah angled her chin again and placed her hands on her hips, sending him an annoyed glare. "You are a Persian soldier and I'm a maharajah's daughter. We are enemies. It seems only logical to ask you why. Do you think there is some reward in it? I can't tell you if there is for certain. I don't even know if my father's alive."

"He's alive," the Prince was quick to reply. He turned on his heel and strode away from her. Farah stomped her foot and hurried to catch up.

"And how do you know that?" she questioned, her voice louder than before.

"Because if your father was dead there would have been some news," the Prince retorted and sounded as if he was beginning to become annoyed himself.

_Good._ "So then you are in it for the money?" Farah was pleased when the Prince shot her a glare out of the corner of his eye.

"I do it because I have to." When Farah gave him a disbelieving look, he added, "If you are not taken home, your father will declare war on Greece. You're his only daughter, he'll go to war for you. The countries around it—including my Persia—would all be caught up in the act."

"So you're doing all this to stop a war?" Farah smiled at him, crossing her arms over her chest. "How very noble of you. You do not hope for money?"

"It was never about money," the Prince returned and there was something else lingering in his eyes before it was banked.

"Very well. Where are we going then, O rescuer?"

"It's too dangerous to just turn around and go home. Those creatures will probably look for us," the Prince answered in reply. "For now, I think we should go to Athens. If there's any clue as to what's going on it'll be there."

"How do you propose we get there?" Farah asked as she touched the string of her bow, strung across her small chest. The Prince did not ask for it back and he had given her the arrows so she supposed she would keep it. A strangely crafted bow, with an ivory base and a silver string. "Are we taking a boat at Troy?"

"No. That's too dangerous. That woman might be looking for us as well," the Prince answered. "There's small port city nearby. It's called Phocaea. We'll get a boat there."

"Alright. Lead the way." Farah smiled cheekily and clasped her hands behind her back. "You do know where we're going, don't you?"

"Yes. I know where we're going," the Prince answered, sounding annoyed.

She almost laughed but decided that would be cruel. So instead, she was satisfied with the mischievous smile on her lips as she folded the young prince.

"You're a long way from Persia," Farah said once they had cleared themselves from the woods. She watched his powerful muscles move beneath the back of his tunic and felt a small heat rise on her cheeks.

"I decided I would do some exploring," the Prince answered and, thankfully, didn't turn to look at Farah. "See the world. I'm the youngest prince in my family so I wasn't tied down by so many obligations like my older brothers."

"So you just left? I wish I could do that," Farah admitted softly, keeping her head. "Before I… was kidnapped, I was supposed to be getting married. The whole time I had just wanted to run away, as far away as my legs could carry me."

She didn't notice it, but the Prince's back went stiff. At his sides, his fingers clenched into fists. But he didn't saw anything. His jaw went stiff to keep all his rage inside. It wasn't Farah's fault, after all. She didn't even remember. It was his fault that he did…

"He's dead now…" Farah said, her voice whispery soft. "I—I didn't even feel sad when he died… I suppose I should have but I didn't… I—I…" Tears clouded her vision and she stopped walking, her shoulders slumping.

For a long moment she stood out in the heat, fighting the tears that fell across her face. She kept her head bowed, feeling weak and lost.

Then a finger brushed away the tear that fell across her cheek. She blinked the tears away and found herself once more looking into the Prince's green gaze.

It was an odd feeling, being this close to him. It was a familiar feeling and at the same time new and strange. There was something that hinted a forgotten memory that refused to surface in her brain. But his eyes calmed her and the tears stopped as she stared softly up into him.

Around her, her world was falling apart but at least he was right there with her. If she needed to she could cling to him. His eyes said that much. And that soothed her in a way nothing else could.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly, tenderly. His fingers dropped down to her cheek and cupped it.

"Fine," Farah replied. Then she shook her head and he dropped his hand from her face. It hung loosely at his side, as if it was not quite sure what to do with itself.

Then they fell into silence and went back to walking, the Prince in the lead with Farah trailing behind. She felt awkward and kept her head lowered. Though the Prince had soothed her tears, it still seemed odd that he could. She had barely known him for more than a few hours—including the ones on her balcony two years ago—he still had the ability to shake off all her doubts and fears.

But she wasn't going to complain. It was nice having him around, Farah had to admit. He wasn't an enemy as far as she could tell. And he had risked his life to save her. At least she owed him her cooperation.

"I've never been to Persia," Farah said suddenly, blinking as the thought entered her mind. "What's it like?"

When the Prince looked over at her he was smiling. "Well, it's a little different from your India but not that much…"

During their walk, they talked. Eventually, they ended up bickering over one thing or another, but it was mostly in good fun. Though her feet were aching, Farah found that she didn't mind as long as she could focus on talking to the Prince.

The Prince stopped suddenly and Farah almost crashed into him. She sent him a glare as he said, "It's night."

"Yes," Farah agreed, her voice exuding sarcasm. "That's what _usually_ happens when the sun goes down." She crossed her arms over her chest and titled her hips.

He rolled his eyes at her and then retorted, "What I _meant_ was that since it's night it's hard to see where we're going. We should camp here and wait for the sun to rise again." In the dim light of the dying sun, he examined the place they stood with a nod. "This will do well enough."

"I didn't notice any blankets on your back," Farah pointed out and shook her head. "Are we going to sleep on the ground?"

"Well, do _you_ have any blankets? All I've got is some food and water for us," the Prince answered and rolled his eyes. "Your kidnapping was all kind of sudden. I didn't have all that much time to plan for it."

"Sorry to inconvenience you," Farah snapped and shrugged. "Lucky, it never gets very cold in this place."

"Anyway, we should be in Phoceae in less than a day. So you won't be sleeping on the ground for very long, _princess_." He walked away, looking for someway to create a fire. As he went, Farah heard him mumbling. "—risked my life to save hers. Didn't have to… this is the thanks I get?"

She rolled her eyes and plopped down on the ground. For a moment she glared at his back, making faces at him when he wasn't looking. Then he turned and caught her in the act. Instead of looking enraged—and Farah was ready for a verbal fight—the Prince's face twisted.

Then suddenly, he was laughing. He fell down beside her and laughed wildly. Farah stared at him in confusion for a long moment before she felt the insane laughter bubbling at her throat as well. Unable to control herself, she leaned against his shoulder and laughed with him.

The Prince wiped tears from the corner of his eyes and stood when at last the laughter had died down. "I'll—I'll find some wood."

Farah nodded and replied, "I'll try to find something to make fire _with_."

--&--

_Athens is burning… the fire destroying the city and causing pieces of architecture to crumble to the ground. People scream and run from the fires, tripping over one another in their haste to escape. Bodies litter the ground, some gutted, some trampled, some charred._

"_Please spare us!" a woman cries as she holds her baby to her breast, its squeals muffled. "We have done nothing to you."_

_There is a laugh, a hideous, twisted laugh and the woman screams as a sword cuts through her baby and then into her chest. The two bodies go spinning to the ground, blood flying into the air._

_The royal couple of Athens are already dead, their limp, lifeless bodies hanging from the walls of their palace. They are nailed there for their people to see and wail at. The first step toward the destruction of the city. Destroy all hope._

_And the next…_

"_Storm the temple," Hades orders sharply, looking like a handsome dark cloud in his battle gear. His sword is out and he ruthlessly swings it, slicing a teenage boy as he tries to escape the sacked city._

_There is no question of which temple—even though there is close to ten of them—to storm. The army knows. The army Hades has risen with Ares' permission. He has his own problems with Athens._

_They are being led by a heartless woman, her twin blades swinging in the lights of the all-consuming fire. Her bare legs are splattered with blood and her face carries a healing cut from an enemy's sword._

_Her face is smooth, indifferent as she leads the armies of Hades into Athens' core. She slices down anyone who stands in her way, anyone who stops her from gaining access into the temple._

_But… when she gets into the temple…_

_She wishes someone had stopped her._

_Blood pools at the stone feet of the statue… the eyes… the eyes staring at her through the darkness of her cold, dead heart._

"_One day you're going to save people like me."_

Anthria snapped awake, gasping for breath. Her knuckles were white, clenched around her sword. She stared down at them for a long moment before releasing the breath she didn't know she had been holding and letting the swords clatter to the ground.

Swinging her legs over the side of her small cot, she pressed her forehead into her hands. She tried to take deep, calming breaths but they came out shaky. She couldn't get a steady hold on herself and she was forced to fold against the covers, seeking dim comfort against her pain.

She cupped her ears, trying to block out the screaming of her head. _It was so long ago… why can I not forget it?_ Her body was covered in a cold sweat and the liquid slipped down along her skin, leaving dark trails on her flesh. Anthria grabbed the water basin that had been left beside her bed and scrubbed herself until her flesh was red and raw.

"_One day you will save people like me…"_

It was nothing. She _told_ herself it was nothing. In a series of long, cold years she had learned to ignore the voice that haunted her at her weakest moments. She used every ounce of her willpower to push her memories behind her.

Once the panic in her had ceased and her fingers had stopped their trembling, she sat up from the bed once more. Someone had laid out a new chiton for her. It was longer than her normal clothing and a light, see-through blue. But it had slit on one side of its leg so she doubted it would constrict.

Her old chiton(1) slipped off her body easily, almost falling apart in her hands. She threw it across the floor and picked up the new one. She slid it over her head. It was more elegant then she was used to. There was another piece of thin, bluish cloth that came down over her chest, connected to the chiton by two golden buttons on her shoulder. The chiton had also come with a leather belt that was too big for her; it had a golden buckle in the center with a carved wild stag which Anthria knew to be Artemis's symbol. So the belt hung on one of her hips and her thigh the next.

Every part of her being was focused on preparing herself for the day. None of her mind was allowed to wander. She knew that if her thoughts trailed away she would once again be dragged into her past. She couldn't go there. The one thing she could not afford was to lose herself in the hideous memories of her past, of the deeds she had down without thought or mercy.

For now, there could only be revenge…

The memories lingered for a moment longer, pressing against her skull, screaming to be freed. But her walls were up and soon the memories and nightmares died away, like the remnants of a hurricane slowing, lessening its crashes against the shore.

Anthria knew what she had to do. She had to seek out Farah and her young rescuers. Not to capture them, but to find Hades and Ares. The gods would seek them out for Farah was still necessary to their plan but they would find her in the possession of Anthria.

They would have to make a deal with her, those two gods. Or Anthria would kill Farah. That would be her revenge, putting a stop to their plan. It had been in the works for _years_. And it would be a kick to their egos. A mortal ending everything?

As she washed her face in the water basin, she caught her reflection. In the water, Anthria's face twisted as she reared her hand back and slapped it, sending the water into wild ripples. She couldn't stand looking at her face anymore. It was too familiar. There was no change to it.

She wiped water from her cheek and felt her muscles clenching in her jaw. She massaged the tense features until they were slackened.

Dawn was breaking through the tiny, dirty window beside the cot she had taken residence in last night. That was the signal that she had to move.

If she was to catch Farah then she had to move swiftly.

No longer was she interested in bringing Farah to Sparta. No longer was she interested in Farah. All that mattered in her world was getting revenge on Hades and Ares, the men that had betrayed her.

And when they had paid, and paid dearly, she would seek out the final wrong that had been done to her. Her sword would be bright with blood then. At last, after so long of waiting, revenge would be hers.

She had been young, once. Young and innocent. But that had been so long ago. Like the ruins of Troy, her innocence had been burnt to the ground. In a single night and day everything she had believed in and stood for had been destroyed.

She made her way out of the inn, her sandals making noises against the wood planks of the floor. Her tiny noises did not disturb any of the sleeping residence. After years of war and farm noises, they had become heavy sleepers.

Outside, the sun was already spilling onto the dead ground. She grabbed some of the dusty dirt and smothered her hands in it, making them dry and less moist. She hated to have wet palms while handling her swords. It made the hilts of her blades slippery and hard to manage.

It would take time to track down Farah and her mysterious rescuer. The young man had known how to fight, which meant he probably knew how to hide as well. Anthria would have to track him down fast, so she didn't lose their trail.

There was smoke in the air, filling the sky. Fires had been doused the night before but the smell of it lingered in the air.

Before she left, Anthria approached the ruins of Troy. It was almost all that was left of the once grand city. Closing her eyes, she could almost imagine Priam, his sons and Helen of Troy looking down at the soldiers from the high walls. Hades had told her stories of the city once, of Hector and Paris and Achilles.

Her fingers reached down to touch the charred stone of the rubble. She said a silent prayer to Artemis, the one god she felt she _hadn't_ betrayed, and turned on her heels. Without one backwards glance she started to run.

When she stood in Troy she was reminded of how much innocence had been lost. And not only for the city. She had been young once, young and vibrant and happy. But it had all come crashing down around her. In a single day and night her world had given way and she had… lost… _everything_.

And now there was nothing left for her. Nothing but revenge.

* * *

**notes:** (1) I just wanted to make note of Anthria's clothing. Actually, most women from the Greecian times did _not_ wear those short chitons we all think they do. However, Spartan women _were_ known to. That's mostly because Spartan women were allowed to participate in the games (not the Olympic games, just average things like footraces) and a long shift would make a feet impossible. Hence, short leg-bearing chitons. And, remember, Anthria's from Sparta. 

Reviews

**bluetinkerbell:** I've always been fond of Farah. Mostly because she always seemed easy to throw the Prince throw loops if necessary. Sure, she got in trouble once or twice, but I like to think she was smart enough to get out of them if necessary. That, and she wasn't the one to stab the Dagger in the Hourglass, was she?

**The One and Only Red Wulf Riot:** when I first heard New! Farah's voice I thought she was… from the South. But I overlooked that fact just because she as back in it and I did enjoy the game. I also liked the ending because (other than the whole 'full circle' thing) it left us open to believe that Farah and the Prince stayed together. Which, obviously, I did.

**Specter Von Baron:** I love making OCs… and then torturing them to no end! Maybe it's my revenge against the Mary-Sues?

**Sakura123:** yeah, I know. I hate making a _whole_ chapter focusing solely on an OC. But it was necessary.

**Miss Trippy:** thank you so much! I strive to keep true to the owner's original work when it comes to character personalities and plotlines. Which is mostly why I did a SoT extension, since I _love_ British! Prince. I also _hate_ Mary-Sues. I can't understand why anyone has one since there is a clear formula on how to make a M-S and it's easy to avoid.

**Sorceress Cassandra180:** you haven't seen _half_ of it yet, let me tell you!

**mozu the dark angel:** I'm glad you enjoy it. I do try XD

**Lin-chin:** my writing style is modeled after my favorite author. She's Nora Roberts. Pretty sure just about _everyone_ has read Nora Roberts. If not… boy, you don't know what you're missing.

**Delirium Trigger:** I've got nothing against Warrior Within. I just like British people more. Or I just found SoT more compelling WW. Being a female gamer I look for a durable, deep plotline. And yeah, I know Kaileena was modeled after Monica Bellucci. She's a pretty woman, I'll give her that. But I don't know… her anatomy looked kind of disproportional to me. I liked Kaileena better in T2T, even if her face was kinda… wince worthy.

**ChatterBox101:** I love doing that. Like I hated Kaileena for a bit (based on others opinions for a while) but I felt bad for her in T2T. Not bad because she didn't get the Prince but like dying, knowing it, and continuing on anyway. Note also, Farah/Prince moments will be slow because… I do romance slow. Eh.

**Next Chapter Preview**

_…She glared at him and shot her chin out. "I am perfectly capable of looking after a fire for a few hours. Or did you think I wasn't?"_

"_No," the Prince returned and rolled his eyes as he turned away. "I was just trying to do you a favor."_

_Farah crossed her arms over her chest and the Prince bent down to douse the fire out with the sand of the ground. "Well, next time, don't."_

"_Fine. I will get you up at the rude hours of the night next time. See how happy you are then," the Prince muttered as he examined the land that was just beginning to be bathed in sunlight. In the new light, everything was easier to make out._

"_Well, which way are we going?" Farah questioned as she came up to his side, tilting her head to look at him. "You do know, don't you?"_

"_Of course I do," the Prince retorted, sounding insulted. "Phoceae is south of here. All we have to do is follow the mountains down." He motioned to the looming silhouettes in the distance. "We should arrive either late today or tomorrow if we decide to rest."…_

…_Anthria was suddenly aware of the heady power of the immortal. It was always easy to sense the works of the immortals. Perhaps it was the ambrosia they drank on Mount Olympus. But whatever it was, when an immortal was near there was a sense of magick in the air, a sense of power and danger._

_There was no difference now._

_She withdrew her twin blades from her back as she approached. In the blinding sunlight she could make out Ares' horde, their skin decaying in the blistering heat._

_What was more, she saw the man who controlled them. And it wasn't Hades._

"_Ares."_


	8. Death Trap

**Disclaimer:** insert standard disclaimer here

**Spoilers:** see prologue

**Author's notes:** hmm… over a month… oh well. April and May are hectic months (for me anyway) since there are all those annoying tests like AP exams and SATs. And then there's the scramble to secure a summer job… but I AM working on this. _Really_.

**Warning:** you're going to hate me by the end of this chapter

* * *

_/Chapter Seven: Death Trap/_

"**Now while my lips are living,  
****Theirs words must stay unsaid,  
****And will my soul remember  
****To speak when I am dead?"  
**-Sara Teasdale, "After Death"

* * *

The Prince watched as Farah slept, curled up on herself. She was shivering in some vain attempt to find warmth. Though the day had been hot and relentless in its burning heat, Lady Night had cast a cool spell around them, the chilled moisture hanging in the air like fine diamonds above their heads.

They had decided to take turns watching the fire, keeping an eye out for those hellish creatures that might still pursue them. Of course, the Prince had taken the first watch. And, of course, he had no intention of waking the girl from her slumber. From what she had told him of her time in captivity, she hadn't been able to gain much sleep. Most of it had been spent filled with worries and anxiety.

He picked up a loose, thin stick at his side and poked at the embers of the fire. Tiny red and orange sparks leapt into the air, sparkling like close-up stars. They danced gently to the ground before their light was extinguished.

Farah moaned softly in her sleep, mumbling incoherent words as she turned on her side. Her fingers were curled under her dark head and beneath her closed lids, those dark eyes were flashing back and forth.

It was odd, being this close to her again. And at the same time, it was bitter. So very bitter. If such a reunion proved anything, it proved that Fate was a bitter mistress. For it was Fate that had seen to it that they two be thrown together and then ripped apart. Fate had put them together just to pull them away from each other.

And now, Fate had placed them together again and Farah was just as ignorant of their time together as she had been two years ago. Yes, indeed, Fate was a cruel and unforgiving mistress.

Unable to stop himself, he reached over and brushed away the loose strand of dark hair that fell over her passive face. The simple skin contact had his body shivering with memories. Flashes of them, the bittersweet images of them together that she would never remember.

Over the past two years, he had tried to forget her and the Sands of Time. He had told himself there was no future with her. When he had attempted to kiss her there had been no reorganization on her lips. She had been soft and yielding against him for a moment… before she had pushed him away.

But the scars that the Sands had given him were not so easily erased. They were there, in his eyes and in his heart. The rips that Time had given him were always there, and they would never leave.

It had faded though, the scars that had been left on him. They were still there, of course, sleeping silently in his skin, but it had managed to find a small niche in his head and had been, for almost two four months, silent.

He no longer woke in the night, panting for breath, covered in a cold sweat, his fingers groping for the Dagger of Time. There were no longer moments when he jolted awake in the night, no sure where he was, listening for the grunts and groans of the Sand Creatures. Now, they were only nightmares that faded when his body gave way to wakefulness.

And it seemed now that he had finally managed to find peace in the recess of his haunted mind, Fate had decided to yet again remind him of his bitter past. Because here was Farah, flesh and blood, and here they were, running for their lives.

Perhaps Fate was not just having a joke at his expense. Perhaps there was a reason why he had heard of Farah's kidnapping. Maybe Fate was trying to heal him in her own twisted why. He wouldn't be surprised if it turned out that Farah was essential to the healing of his scared heart.

If he was to save Farah, then he supposed to the best way to do it was to head to Athens. It would be the safest place for her. And it would be the easiest way for him to gain information on who or what was after Farah.

He couldn't take her to Indian, not yet. It was too dangerous.

There was something going on. Something evil. The Prince knew that. And it wasn't because they had been attacked by the hell creatures. It was because of the dark clouds that were present over every city. There was a sense of evil in the air, everywhere he went.

Then those strange creatures had appeared, set on killing Farah. They reminded the Prince of the Sand Creatures. Not worse, but not better. There had been a death-like quality to them. Their skin had looked like flesh, but it had been hard like stone. They bled, but even the brightness of their blood had seemed unnatural, perverse even.

His fingers touched the cool metal of his sword. It rested beside his hip, glowing in the light of fire. While it had been the strongest sword he had ever wielded and had the ability to destroy a Sand Creature with one might swipe, it had done no damage against the stone of the demons' backs.

There had to be a way to defeat him, the Prince mused. The woman that had been the leader of Farah's kidnappers had seemed to know what she had been doing.

That woman… the Prince frowned as he thought of her. She didn't seem like a person who worked with dirty rogues. She had a regal, serious face. And she had the skills of a brilliant soldier. It didn't make sense that she would willingly work with the people that had kidnapped Farah, let alone _lead_ them.

And yet, there was no doubt in the Prince's mind that she had. The man the Prince had killed when he had first entered the camp had gone into the tent with the last of his breath and the woman had come moments later, dragging a struggling Farah behind her.

_If she's an enemy, I'll fight her, too_, the Prince thought. But, luckily, that woman hadn't caught up with them. In all likeliness she wasn't chasing after them.

Keeping his eyes on the fire, the Prince willed the morning to come.

--&--

And when morning did come, Farah awoke with the sun. She glanced around, blinking her dark eyes, and realized that she had slept the _whole_ night. This meant that the Prince hadn't shaken her awake. Which meant she hadn't taken her turn watching the fire, like she had been prepared too.

When her eyes narrowed at him, the Prince smiled weakly and shrugged. "It looked like you needed your sleep."

She glared at him and shot her chin out. "I am perfectly capable of looking after a _fire_ for a few hours. Or did you think I wasn't?"

"No," the Prince returned and rolled his eyes as he turned away. "I was just trying to do you a favor."

Farah crossed her arms over her chest and the Prince bent down to douse the fire out with the sand of the ground. "Well, next time, don't."

"Fine. I _will_ get you up at the rude hours of the night next time. See how happy you are _then_," the Prince muttered as he examined the land that was just beginning to be bathed in sunlight. In the new light, everything was easier to make out.

"Well, which way are we going?" Farah questioned as she came up to his side, tilting her head to look at him. "You do know, don't you?"

"Of course I do," the Prince retorted, sounding insulted. "Phoceae is south of here. All we have to do is follow the mountains down." He motioned to the looming silhouettes in the distance. "We should arrive either late today or tomorrow if we decide to rest."

"I want to get there as soon as possible," Farah answered and together they made their way down toward the small town. "We'll have to take a boat to Athens, won't we?"

"Yes. Athens is on the Grecian territory. Basically the capital of the city," the Prince replied. "Didn't _you_ know that?"

She sensed the underlying insult and crinkled her nose at him. "Well, yes. I have heard of Athens in books and such. But my father was never concerned with what went on all the way over there. Now, of course, that's all he'll want to hear about…"

They stretched into silence as Farah was drawn into her thoughts. One question plagued her above all. Why had she seen been kidnapped? She understood the Spartan king ordering the capture for a mistress, but why had Anthria and her men been ordered to travel all the way to India and take her, when there were closer princesses to capture? There was something odd about the whole thing.

But it wasn't only that…

"If my father lived—" for a moment she couldn't go on, her eyes misting with tears. _Oh, please, Father, be alive._ "—through the sacking of our palace, he'll go to war against all of Greece… many people will die, won't they? And, like you said, every other country will also be caught up in war."

"Yes," the Prince said but didn't turn to face her. His voice sounded as if he was confused as to where she was going with it.

For a moment, Farah wasn't sure either. There was a thought, a theory, being formed in her mind. She couldn't grasp it for a moment, but when she did her eyes went wide. "Do you think… that was the plan the whole time? To ensue a war between all these countries?"

"It's possible," the Prince replied as he _did_ turn to look at her. "And likely. But it doesn't make that much sense. Why would Sparta want to war with India? It's too far away to rule properly. Especially when cities like Athens and Thebes are closer."

His gaze was so vivid and green that she couldn't seem to focus on his words. She watched his lips move, but couldn't seem to grasp what he said. For a long moment, all she could see was the piercing gaze of his green irises, staring past her skin and into her soul. No one had ever done that before…

She shook her head and made her mind think of only the words he said. "Anthria… she said something about being in service to a god…"

The Prince shook his head. "The people here—they have a strangle loyalty to their gods, even though these 'immortals' never speak to them. They feel as if they have to do something for their gods, sacrifice animals and hold feasts and festivals in their honors, when they have never been commissioned to do so."

"But Anthria is not the kind of woman to do something for such a silly reason," Farah protested. "That woman… she's cold and collective. And at the same time, there's a weak kindness in her. She gave me my sandals so my feet wouldn't blister and then she planned on giving me over to Spartan king. It's as if there are two people inside her, both vying for control, and the cruel one always wins."

"You think a… god might be behind this?" the Prince asked and though it did indeed sound ridiculous, he was perfectly serious.

"I do not know, but after those… those _things_ attacked us, I think I might believe it." Farah glanced up at the sky, wiping at her brow. It was still early morning, but the sun was enough to burn her already darkened skin. "But this is all so… confusing."

"Once we get to Athens things should become clearer," the Prince answered reassuringly. "It's the centre of Grecian commerce. If something strange is going down we'll find out about it there. Almost all of the information and going-ons of the world end up on the lips of Athenian residences."

"How do you know that? Have you ever been to Athens?"

"No, but I went to Thebes, once. It does almost as well as Athens, though not quite. It's always in Athens' shadow. I heard from there that Athens is the center of everything in Greece. That everyone close enough makes to journey to Athens once in their life, to see its temples and markets places and palaces." The Prince gave a shrug, and kicked at a loose pebble in the ground. "If you ask anyone around here, most people will say that Athens is the greatest city ever built."

"If it's so great then why doesn't Spartan go to war against it?" Farah demanded and placed her hands on her hips. The Prince looked over at her and smiled slowly and, as a small blush covered her cheeks, Farah returned to it.

"Well, Athens is the most important city in the Grecian world. It has a treaty with every city and country neighboring it. If Sparta went to war against Athens, it would basically being going to war against every other city-state." The Prince glanced down at her once more and went back to look straight ahead. "Spartan wars have always been messy, extremely messy, but one against the whole Grecian nations would just be ridiculous and fatal."

Farah's eyes narrowed and a heat blazed in them. "The Spartans seem to have some brains on them. Then why are they foolish enough to start a war between India?"

"I do not know, I—"

There was a growl and Farah gasped as the Prince locked a hand around her arm and dragged her fully behind him. From out of no where rose those hellish creatures, claws unsheathed and fangs dripping with saliva. They took slow, sluggish steps toward the Prince. The Prince took one step back and Farah, gripping his shoulders, had no choice but to take one as well.

"These things again…" the Prince growled as one of his hands reached out to grab the handle of his sword and the other sliding down to grip Farah's hip. She didn't even bother to swat his hand away.

"What do they want?" Farah hissed into his ear as they kept on backing up. "And why aren't they attacking us?" She released his shoulders and disentangled the ivory bow and arrow set from her back.

"You're complaining?" the Prince hissed back.

"No!" she whispered in return, notching an arrow silently behind his back. The silver of the Prince's sword glinted on the scaly, peeling skin of the hellish creatures. "But I just don't understand why—"

"You have questions… perhaps I can be of some service?"

--&--

Anthria almost felt the movement of Ares' horde. They had a certain supernatural quality to them and whenever they walked the earth, the air was thick with power. Heavy and saturated with the magick of the gods.

She knew Ares and Hades had made their move against Farah and her rescuer.

Her feet dug hard into the ground as she pushed her legs forward with all her might. The whoosh of air crashed into her opened mouth and punched mercilessly into her lungs. She couldn't seem to drag in any air. She gasped but kept surging forward.

Within fifteen minutes she had found Farah and her rescuer's encampment. The fire had just begun to die down and Anthria knew she could be no more than ten minutes behind them. That was good because it looked like Hades had moved faster than she had originally thought.

Abandoning the camp, Anthria followed the two sets of footprints she found in the dry ground. Wind had dusted most of them away, but the imprints of a few still remained. It was enough for Anthria to follow, her sandals kicking up the sun-dried ground.

Hades was moving against Farah and Anthria had the sneaking suspicion that that young man had no idea what he was getting himself into. Anyone who knew wouldn't have gotten involved.

Ignorant or no, Anthria would protect the young man if that was what it took to extract her revenge from Hades. She wasn't prideful enough to hesitate helping a former enemy. The old saying: the enemy of your enemy is your friend…

And Hades had just become her number one enemy.

Well, number one save for _one_ man.

It was strange, how fast a relationship could be destroyed after so many years of partnership. Though Anthria had never shared an inkling of feeling for Hades, she had worked for him for longer than she could remember and it was strange for it to so abruptly end.

Anthria was suddenly aware of the heady power of the immortal. It was always easy to sense the works of the immortals. Perhaps it was the ambrosia they drank on Mount Olympus. But whatever it was, when an immortal was near there was a sense of magick in the air, a sense of power and danger.

There was no difference now.

She withdrew her twin blades from her back as she approached. In the blinding sunlight she could make out Ares' horde, their skin decaying in the blistering heat.

What was more, she saw the man who controlled them. And it wasn't Hades.

"Ares."

--&--

He was a burly man, Farah noted as he approached the Prince and herself. Broad shoulders and wide hips, with muscles barely concealed behind a thin, white chiton. He was tall, taller than the Prince, and a beard covering his face. Thick sandals crunched against the ground as he approached them.

"Well, I was surprised when Hades told me how you alluded my army, Princess." Ares reached a thick, bulging finger out and tapped the head of one of his creatures. It neck snapped back, but it didn't move. "But then they weren't created with brains."

"Who are you?" the Prince demanded, as he shifted his weight ever-so-slightly. Behind his back, he felt Farah readying her bow in case they needed to fight. He didn't know what it was, but there was something that screamed enemy about this man.

The brawny man laughed and placed his fisted hands on his hips and glowered at them. "Oh, I'm not sure you would know. Grecian gods don't make it that far out across Asia Minor. But I am—" the man gave them a mock bow as he spoke the words "—Ares, the God of War."

"The real…?" Farah muttered, but couldn't seem to finish her sentence. Everything suddenly had taken a whirl, leaving her distorted and dazed. _A god… as in a real one? They are real?_

"Oh, yes. A very _real_ god." Ares shook his head, sending his shoulder-length raven's hair flying around his built face. "What do you worship in India and how do you do it properly?"

"What do you want?" the Prince questioned stiffly, as he took another a step back with Farah behind him. His eyes scanned for possible escape routes and he cursed when he found none.

"Well… the girl, of course." Ares shrugged as if he thought it should be obvious. His dark, dark eyes locked with Farah and the girl almost collapsed from the pressure on her chest it caused. "You are beautiful. I mean, you're no Aphrodite, but as far as mortals go…"

Her fingers over the ivory of her bow tightened as she kept her eyes steady on Ares. As long as he was talking his creatures didn't seem to be attacking. But she knew they would mercilessly kill them the minute the god gave the word.

"Helen of Troy… you've heard of her even so far away?" Ares laughed heartily. "How does it feel to be the next in a long line of women bringing doom to an entire nation?"

"What are you talking about?" the Prince hissed, his eyes narrowing in anger.

"I think it should be obvious. Sparta wouldn't war against India unless I gave them both a reason to. Kidnapping the only daughter of an influential maharajah seemed like a good reason. Now Sparta _has_ to bend to our will if they want to survive. Of course, Sparta will need the Princess Farah alive to believe we really plan to go to war so… if you don't mind, Prince." Ares outstretched his hand, as if he expected the Prince to hand Farah over him without further dispute.

"Yes, sure…" the Prince snorted, allowing sarcasm to exude from his voice. He kept his eyes focused on Ares. Any moment now… the battle would begin. "_Not_…"

"Funny… I had a feeling you were going to say that," Ares admitted and his grin covered his entire face. "You're a prince, correct? The prince of Persia? I've heard about you. I know what you did… two years ago…"

The Prince tensed, but he didn't reply to Ares mocking. Farah nudged him with her shoulder to let him know she was ready to attack. He inclined his head as a way of answering.

"Very well… since your intent on keeping her… I guess I'll have to take the princess by force." He touched the shoulder of the nearest creature. "Kill the prince, take the girl to Sparta. Do _not_ fail me."

Then he was gone in a rush of wind. More hellish creatures rose to take his place. Their fangs shone in the light of the new day and the Prince's breathing hissed out in a small attempt to calm himself.

"Now!" he shouted and rolled away. Farah raised her bow and fired her first arrow. It soared through the air and hit the creature directly in the neck.

It screamed in a wild pain, blood bursting from the vessels and muscle tissue in its skin. The creature dropped to its knees, clawing at the soft tissue of its neck. The Prince managed to stare as the thing collapsed to its knees, unable to breathe.

_It's neck…_ He gasped as realization dawned on him. He turned to Farah and shouted, "Their necks! Hit their necks! They're vulnerable there."

Farah nodded her head slightly before releasing another arrow, the sharp tip of the fletched weapon rocketing into another neck. The creatures lunged and Farah rolled away. The Prince vaulted over a creature as it came up behind him and brought his sword down on the creature's neck.

He yanked his sword out, almost sickened as the blood splattered across the ground. But he didn't have time to vomit as another came after him. He backflipped away, landing on his palm and rotating his hand, kicking his legs out and making contact with the skull of one of Ares' creatures.

Meanwhile, Farah was letting loose as many arrows as she could notch. She was careful where she aimed them for, as the Prince had told her, their only weak spots were their necks. Anything else would be useless against them.

Something grabbed her by the neck. Farah's scream clogged in her throat as she whirled and slammed her bow into the creature's face. It released her and she ran as far away from it as she could.

The Prince was having an easier time. Though he hadn't managed to store up enough strength for decapitating the creatures, he injured each and everyone one of them greatly. Enough to have them rolling on the floor in pain, no longer a threat to him.

But when he turned to Farah, she had no more arrows left. She gasped as her fingers locked around air, glancing down at her empty holster. The creatures surrounded her, mad rage in their eyes.

"Farah!" he screamed and lunged forward, going as fast as his legs could. He swung his sword and caught the neck of one of the creature's that descended on her. They both went sprawling to the ground.

Out of nowhere, Farah's bow came down on the creature's skull. The Prince managed to push the weakened creature away and look up at Farah. She smiled at him and he returned it.

Behind her, another one of Ares' horde rose. It's fingers had a perfect opening for a wound in Farah's back.

A wound that would near kill her.

His fingers reached out and grabbed her hip, throwing her sideways just as the deadly sharp claws descended on her.

Instead of finding Farah's back, it found the Prince's stomach.

He gasped in pain, a warm feeling coming over his skin. In the distance he heard Farah screaming, but darkness swarmed his vision and he couldn't fight it. His eyes drifted closed and he felt… light… unburdened.

But no… Farah _needed_ him. But the Prince couldn't escape the warmth that enveloped him. Everything was going into darkness, fading into nothingness. Was this dying? It seemed too easy to be death.

Farah… 

"Run," he rasped to Farah before his world caved into the darkness.

--&--

When the Prince stopped moving Farah's mind went into a state of sheer panic. What should she do? What could she do?

_He's like this… he's like this because he was protecting _me, Farah thought weakly as tears filmed her eyes. Why had the Prince done it? Why had he sacrificed his life to save hers? He didn't even _know_ her.

All she wanted to do was give up.

"Farah!"

She turned her head and watched as Anthria leapt over to her, landing gracefully on her feet. She twirled, her twin blades singing in the air and she sliced the head of one of Ares' creatures clear off his shoulder.

Then Farah remembered. The Dagger of Time! In her haste she had forgotten all about it. Shakily, Farah withdrew it from her waist belt. She could still save the Prince. There was still a chance to save the man who had saved her life. Consequences be damned.

For him, she had to do it.

But as her fingers placed pressure on the glowering silver button something heavy crashed into her back. The Dagger flew from her hand as Farah went careening against the ground, gagging on dust. Tears flowed openly down her cheeks as she cursed venomously.

_The one thing I could do for him… save him… and I couldn't even do that… all I can do is watch…_ Warm blood spilled onto her back and Farah looked up as Anthria decapitated yet another one of Ares creatures.

Farah didn't care. It didn't matter. She walked over to the Prince and bent down, dropping to her knees beside him. Her fingers hovered a hair's inch above his lips and when no warm breath caressed their tips a small whimper rose into her throat.

For some reason something inside her shattered, a million pieces of broken shards dropping like stones to her feet. She didn't realize it was her heart. But it felt like she would never breathe the same again, never blink the same, never _live_ the same. Something was destroyed in her, just as dead as the Prince was. She gathered the Prince's face in her hands and held him against her, a small, choked sob rising in her throat.

It was all over now. The one person who had seemed to be willing to stand by her was dead. And all because she couldn't keep hold on a Dagger. There was no point in using the knife anymore. The Prince had been dead for too long.

"This is all my fault…" Farah sobbed against his hair. She drew in a sobbing breath and the world around her was water. Tears splashed down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry…" She whispered it over and over again even though he couldn't hear her.

Anthria bent down beside Farah, sheathing her swords which were covered in blood. Almost tenderly, she placed a hand on Farah's shoulder. "Farah, we must move…" There was a sad lit to her voice, but it was overshadowed by her coldness.

"No!" Farah protested, staring like a frightening animal into Anthria's eyes. "I can't _leave_ him." Her voice was strained and grief-stricken.

"He's dead… Farah…" Deliberately, Anthria locked her fingers around Farah's wrist. She opened her fisted palms and placed the Dagger of Time into them. "We have to leave before Ares comes back."

"He came all this way to save _me_," Farah exclaimed as her voice took on a heated tone. Something akin to determination burned fiery hot within their dark irises. "I'm _not_ leaving him."

For the first time, Anthria looked down at the boy. She stared into his still face and, for once in many long years, felt something inside her crack. He couldn't be much younger than her own—

She cursed.

Then she looked into Farah's face, saw the tears streaming from her wide pupils, and cursed again. She stood roughly, her face clenched and jerked her head to the side.

"Hermes," she growled. "Get out here. I _know_ you're there."

Farah looked up just a gust of wind suddenly surrounded them. It had the same feeling to it as the one Ares had used to leave herself and the Prince to his wicked creatures.

And from the vortex of the swirling wind a voice cried, aggravated, "Well, what is it?"

* * *

**notes:** none. Oh, well, here's an interesting tidbit. Ares was actually not a very good God of War. Not mean and nasty like in the game or my story. In myths he's actually a bit of a brat. A prime example is during the Trojan War where he is injured via spear and runs off crying. What a baby.

Reviews

**bluetinkerbell:** well, I always figured Farah and the Prince where truly _in love_ and no matter what is erased I don't think that's something you're heart could forget. I am a hopeless romantic, after all.

**The One and Only Red Wulf Riot:** my favorite parts of SoT were their bickering. XD It was such funny and romantic (see above). I was disappointed by the lack of it in T2T but considering how different they are at that point, I accepted it. Besides, they're technically 'together' at the end so I'm not complaining.

**Miss Trippy:** let me assure that by the end of this you will feel more than a little _bad_ for Anthria. As for Farah/the Prince, their reactions is based mostly off SoT and loosely taken from T2T. And they were never _fluffy_ in it.

**Sakura123:** hey, if you read and review I'm not complaining. And I'm glad that Farah and the Prince are in-character. I really want them to be, obviously.

**Black-Phoenix10:** let me assure you that I didn't start writing this story with the intention of not putting them together. Happy? XD

**Black Emerald Dawn:** why thank you. I'm glad you like it!

**Next Chapter Preview**

_…Anthria did not seem surprised to see a young man appear before them out of the air. She crossed her arms over her chest and slanted one hip. "You have something I would like back," she told him._

"_Oh?" One of the young man's eyebrows rose as he stared at Anthria in what could only be described as humor. "And what's that?"_

"_That boy's soul," Anthria replied. "I would like for you to return it."_

"_Sorry, Anthria, I would just love to help you," the god drawl, his voice oozing sarcasm. "After all that you've done for me, but I've already handed him over to the River Styx. He didn't have any coins so he'll have to wander the banks. Why don't you take it up with your master? He can probably do something about it."_

"_What?" Farah whispered, gripping the limp, dead body of the Prince. Her eyes narrowed at Anthria, burning like coal in her lovely face. "What is he talking about?"…_

…"_Deal. I will kill Hades for you." Anthria inclined her head and narrowed her eyes when Hermes shook his head and laughed lightly._

"_You can't kill Hades. No god can die. It would destroy the balance. Hades is necessary. Without him no mortal would ever die. And you know how much a pain that is, don't you, Anthria?" Hermes shook his head, looking humored again. "No. Only Zeus can set this right. You must free him."_

"_Fine. I will free Zeus."_

"_Wait here for me," Hermes commanded. "I will travel to the River Styx and gather the boy's soul. It might take a while—Charon can be such a nuisance sometimes—but I will be back before tomorrow afternoon."_

"_I understand," Anthria agreed and with another strong rush of wind, the god was gone. She then turned to Farah and bent beside her. "He will be fine."_

_"How can you do that?" Farah questioned, her eyes wide in her face. Throughout the whole conversation she had not been able to believe that Anthria was talking to a god. But what else could he be? "Just call upon a god?"_


	9. Servant to the Gods

**Disclaimer:** go ahead, guess what I don't own

**spoilers:** see prologue

**Author's Notes:** yeah, okay, um I know. Dreadfully late. I was reading some of the later chapters (or, rather, what I had for the later chapters) and realized I was writing myself into a corner. So the story had to undergo major revamping. But I'm pleased to say Fate of Heaven is back on track and ready to go! Yay! Plus, it's summer! w00t!

**warnings:** none, really

* * *

_/Chapter Eight: Servant to the Gods/_

"**And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died,  
****The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side.  
****In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forests cast the leaf,  
****And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief;  
****Yet not unmeet it was that one like that young friend of ours,  
****So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers"  
**-William Cullen Bryant, "Death of the Flowers"

* * *

The raging winds settled as Farah's vision focused. From the swirling vortex of wind and sand stood a young, lanky man. Like most Grecian people he wore a thin, white chiton. But he was young looking, this one, with a fresh face and quirky smile. He was long-limbed and gawky, but not unhandsome. Blue hair flowed down to his shoulders and his eyes were wide and golden.

Farah thought no god was unhandsome.

Anthria did not seem so surprised to see a young man appear before them out of thin air. She crossed her arms over her chest and slanted one hip. "You have something I would like back," she told him.

"Oh?" One of the young man's eyebrows rose as he stared at Anthria in what could only be described as humor. "And what's that?"

"That boy's soul," Anthria replied. "I would like for you to return it."

"Sorry, Anthria, I would just _love_ to help you," the god drawl, his voice oozing sarcasm. "After all that you've done for _me_, but I've already handed him over to the River Styx. He didn't have any coins so he'll have to wander the banks. Why don't you take it up with your master? He can probably do something about it."

"What?" Farah whispered, gripping the limp, dead body of the Prince. Her eyes narrowed at Anthria, burning like coal in her lovely face. "What is he talking about?"

"I no longer serve Hades," Anthria replied as she ignored Farah's comment. "He wishes me dead just as he does everything else now."

"Well now. That _is_ interesting. Tell me, whatever did you do to tick him off?" Hermes laughed in good humor, as if the entire situation pleased him. He sneered at Anthria as he, too, crossed his arms.

Even then his beauty was not destroyed. But he was a mean, cruel god(1), Farah could tell instantly. One who humored himself by scaring mortals. And one who had no love with Anthria. Not that Farah sensed many people did.

They stared at each other for a while, Anthria and the god. Farah watched the silent exchange with a grim face. What were their eyes saying that their words could not? Anthria's face remained impassive while Hermes continued to look humored by everything.

Then a smirk crossed Anthria lips, as if she had just found a trump card in the game she was playing with Hermes. It was a strange look on her face, the smirk. And it seemed almost unnatural, as if she was a woman that was not meant to smile. Farah thought perhaps that was because she had only seen neutrality and a scowl on Anthria's face before.

"I know what Hades and Ares plan," Anthria told Hermes and the god's face lost its humor. He scowled at her, the look as unnatural on his face as the smile was on Anthria's. "I know that they plan a war."

"Yes," Hermes spat, his face taking on a drastic change. Gone was a humorous young man and in his place was a rage-filled god. "A war between Greece and the Middle East. Hades and Ares will see everything dead before it's through."

"I know that the gods do not agree with it, I know that. I can _sense_ that." Anthria continued to smirk as she circled Hermes. "The skies darkened with the quarrels only a week ago. And now… Helios does not ride his golden chariot across the sky every morning."

"You know nothing," Hermes hissed. "You work for Hades. You did, anyway. How do I know you don't work for him still? That this is just a trick to capture the remaining gods that stand in Hades' way?"

"I swear on my _son_," Anthria growled, grabbing the god by the neck roughly. "Give this boy back his soul and I will stop this war Hades has started. For years he has denied me my death and now he threatens to deny me my vengeance. I have just as many reasons to hate Hades as you do."

Hermes nodded grimly, forcing himself to accept that. "So, if I bring this boy's soul back to you, you will stop Hades from destroying our world?"

"Yes."

"Fine. On Mount Olympus, Zeus and Hades had been fighting for many, many weeks. Hades wanted to control the Asia Minor, but Zeus would not hear of it. He likes the gods to remain in Greece," Hermes explained stiffly, jerking his chin out. "Mortals are hard to control and often more of an annoyance then anything else. All the gods agreed Asia Minor was best left alone except for—"

"Hades and Ares. They decided to use Sparta, since it is Ares' hub, to start a war with India since the two would be the most likely to drag everyone else into the war. The only way to ensure that Sparta remained loyal to the cause was to make sure they had no option of pulling out of the war, by convincing India that they had done the first wrong," Anthria supplied, nodding. "Yes, yes. I know. He already _told_ me that."

"I'm telling you again anyway," Hermes replied, looking at her with indignation. "Hades and Ares conspired and one day he and Ares tricked Zeus into coming to Sparta. There they used the palace as a seal and locked Zeus away in there. Hera come to free her husband and she, too, become a prisoner. Any other god who stood in his way met the same fate. Now only I, and a few others, remain, and we have no power against Hades or Ares. Not without Zeus."

"Hades and Ares are two of the twelve Olympian gods. Without Zeus, what hope do the others have of defeating them?" Anthria shook her head, her golden locks bouncing around her pale face. "And no doubt some were foolish enough to challenge them and now you're numbers have dwindled."

"Know everything don't you?" Hermes demanded, extending his arm to wave it around in the air. "But I bet you don't know this…" He coughed, pausing for emphasis. "We—the few gods that remain—have a plan to defeat Hades and Ares and put Zeus where he belongs. Swear to help us free Zeus and stop this war and I will give you the boy's soul back."

"Deal. I will kill Hades for you." Anthria inclined her head and narrowed her eyes when Hermes shook his head and laughed lightly.

"You can't kill Hades. No god can die. It would destroy the balance. Hades is necessary. Without him no mortal would ever die. And you know how much a pain _that_ is, don't you, Anthria?" Hermes shook his head, looking humored again. "No. Only Zeus can set this right. You must free him."

"Fine. I will free Zeus."

"Wait here for me," Hermes commanded. "I will travel to the River Styx and gather the boy's soul. It might take a while—Charon can be such a nuisance sometimes—but I will be back before tomorrow afternoon."

"I understand," Anthria agreed and with another strong rush of wind, the god was gone. She then turned to Farah and bent beside her. "He will be fine."

"How can you do that?" Farah questioned, her eyes wide in her face. Throughout the whole conversation she had not been able to believe that Anthria was talking to a god. But what else could he be? "Just call upon a god?"

"They don't answer often," Anthria answered, her face darkening. "Usually, they listen to mortals if it best suits them. This time Hermes needed my help and so he listened. He probably knew that Hades was no long my master, just was playing the part of it for me. I wouldn't be surprised."

"Why are your gods so cruel?" Farah questioned as she smoothed back the Prince's dark hair. "They are higher powers, aren't they?"

"Our gods are fickle creatures," Anthria muttered as she stood a seat beside. She glanced over at Farah and her eyes were deep and cobalt. "They refuse to admit it but they are the closest thing to humans."

Farah stared down at the Prince's still face and felt tears prickle her eyes once more. "Will Hermes… keep his word?"

"He has no reason not to," Anthria replied, watching with a strange guarded look as Farah tenderly continued to stroke the Prince's face. "It's in his favor to help us."

"Why are you helping us?" Farah asked softly, looking over at Anthria through her lashes. "You saved my life. Are you taking me to Sparta?"

"No. Hades betrayed me, like I said. Now by helping you I'm not helping him and…" Anthria trailed off, staring into the distance as the sun began to set. "I have done many… terrible things in my life… perhaps I should start making amends."

"What will we do now?" Farah asked, sensing that Anthria no longer wished to talk about why she was helping her.

"We will wait for Hermes to bring us the boy's soul, obviously. Then we will do as he wishes us, to keep our end of the bargain," Anthria explained. "Stay here and I will go and collect firewood for the night."

The young woman nodded as the warrior stood and stalked the ground. She glanced at Farah. "I will return shortly."

--&--

As the sun set, Anthria had already had a fire going. Farah sat beside it, the Prince wrapped in a small blanket Anthria had in her rucksack.

She absently stroked his face, surprised at how easy it was to be this close to him. It felt almost… right. His dead, limp body rested beside her but there was no stench of death around him. She knew it was because Hermes had seen to it that his blood and organs remained active, or so Anthria had said.

It was almost too much for Farah to take. She wanted the Prince to awaken—_now_—and she wanted to go home. Or she wanted everything to start making sense again. It felt as if she had been dragged into a world where the laws she had grown up with all her life had been twisted around until they were the opposite of what she had thought they were.

Anthria was sitting across from Farah and the Prince. She was eating a deer she had killed with Farah's bow. Farah had already eaten her piece, surprised at how ravenous she was. Anthria had taken small bites of hers and continued to eat it now. Farah was full, thankfully, and slightly disgusted at how fast she had eaten her meat.

"How long can he go on living like this?" Farah questioned as her attention was brought back down to the Prince.

"As long a necessary," Anthria replied and gave her a small shrug. "I don't know. I've never kept a person living." She bit a chunk of meat, the juices sliding down her chin. "Don't worry about it, though. As soon as we get the boy's soul we'll have to move."

Farah didn't think she'd able to do much sleeping, but strangely, the minute she settled down on the ground, a few feet away from the Prince, she was immediately drawn into the darkness of rest.

…Then someone was shaking her awake. Farah gave a groggy moan and stared into Anthria's emotionless eyes. The sun was burning on her back, just beginning to peep over the horizon. Farah blinked and snapped up.

"How long was I out?"

"The entire night," Anthria answered with a small shrug. "You were exhausted. Needed the sleep."

She nodded and stood. "Where is Hermes?"

"He is coming." Anthria bent down and touched the Prince's neck. He wasn't breathing but she must have found what she was looking for because Anthria nodded and backed away.

Then the familiar, eerie gust of wind rose from nowhere. Farah gripping her head to keep her hair still as her skirt flapped around her long legs. She choked on sand and squeezed her eyes closed. Anthria stood in front of her, protecting her from the worst of it, and didn't even seem effected by the raging sands.

"Well, here I am," said Hermes's voice from the center of the swirling vortex of sand. "And his soul's been revived, thank you very much." The blue-haired immortal formed within the eddy as the winds died down.

Blinking, Farah bent down beside the Prince and watched in amazement as his chest began to rise and fall. A shaky smile formed on her lips and she pressed an unbalanced kiss to his forehead.

"And they are?" Anthria asked, not even taking notice of the Prince's breathing. Her eyes were focused on the dark figures that approached them. They were horse-like… with four long legs and they moved fast across the land.

"Oh, you're guides." Hermes walked over to Farah and bent down to touch the Prince's forehead. "I can only bring his soul back into his body." He looked into Farah's eyes, his immortal irises stilling her breathing. "His body hasn't healed from his wound. Within the week, he'll die from it again."

"Then what—" Farah began, choking on her words. It was so hard to breath, so hard to speak, so hard to _look_ into the god's golem eyes. "What do we do?"

"Take him to Asclepius, the god of healing, on the isle of Chios(2). He will heal this boy," Hermes answered. "He is located in the heart of the forest on Chios. Take a boat and sail toward it from Phocaea. You should reach it in two days' time."

And finally those dark figures were close enough for them to make out. Farah almost screamed in terror at what she saw. They were half-man, half-horse. Taller than anyone Farah had ever seen before with long dark hair and beady eyes. They had four, horse legs and two, powerful human arms. Both their horse bodies were dark and one had white spots on its hind quarters.

"Centaurs(3)," Anthria growled and reached out for her swords.

"Halt, Lady Anthria," one of the centaurs said, the oldest one and the tallest. "I am Ctrynous, and this is my son Leander. We were trained by Chiron himself. We are not wild like our brethren. We are here only to serve you."

"I don't need servants," Anthria snapped, glaring over at Hermes.

The young-looking god shrugged. "They know the wilds of Chios better than anyone else. And there is a roost of centaurs on the island. Ctrynous and Leander will keep them from attacking you." Hermes gave her a smile that bordered on a sneer. "You're a thing for killing, Anthria. But I doubt that even you could protect a living princess and a near-dead prince."

"I…" Anthria's face clenched into a mask of rage for a moment. Then she blew a breath out between her teeth. Very slowly, her face slid into a neutral mask once more. "_Understand_."

"Good," Hermes agreed with a small nod. "Good luck, Ctrynous. You're going to need it."

"Thank you, Lord Hermes. We centaurs are honored to serve you to the best of our abilities," Ctrynous said as his hoof scrapped against the dirt ground.

Hermes gave them one last nod before disappearing into another swirling vortex. And his voice eerily called after he was gone, "We are counting on you, Anthria. Asclepius will have more information for you at Chios."

Leander, the black-hided centaur with the white spots, shuffled toward Anthria and took a deep bow. "My lady, we are at your service. When do we leave for Phocaea?"

"Take Farah and the Prince to the shore near here," Anthria commanded. "I will get a boat from Phocaea and bring it down to you."

"No!" Farah protested instantly. It wasn't the thought of being alone with centaurs that frightened her. It was that she didn't trust Anthria. The woman had been her enemy mere hours before. How did she know the woman wouldn't just leave?

And then what would happen to the Prince?

"I will return," Anthria told her, knowing what she was thinking. She grabbed Farah's shoulder and looked into her eyes. "I _will_ return."

Slowly, Farah nodded. Anthria released her and turned to the centaurs. "Your first mission for me is to guard Princess Farah. Do not let anything harm her. Hades and Ares wish to use her as a war pawn."

"My son and I swear to die protecting her," Ctrynous answered as his long, silky tail flicked back and forth. He crossed his big, muscular arms over his chest.

"I will return before the sun sets tonight…"

--&--

When Anthria had disappeared into the horizon, Farah wasn't sure what to do. What did one say to a half-man, half-horse creature? So instead of saying anything to them, she bent down and examined the Prince.

It gave her an odd feeling to see him breathing again. She kept pressing her fingers against his neck, the feel of his pulse beating so strongly beneath her fingers gave her a thrill nothing else ever had before.

Inside her head a little voice was whispering: _look, you're going to be alright._

"Hail, Princess Farah," the young centaur—well, he didn't look young, but he was _younger_—said when she had still had not found the courage to speak to them. "I am Leander, centaur of the Thracian plains."

"Oh—er—you can call me… Farah," she mumbled weakly. Despite their mixture of species, the centaurs before her gave off a regal air. It was in the way they stood, backs stiff and straight, hooves pointed directly into the ground. There was just something wrong about these noble creatures calling her 'princess'.

"Very well," Leander said and his face broke out into a small smile. And there was his youth. It had just been hiding in the cracks of his face, in the lines under his eyes, but when he smiled it was obvious how young he was. "I am honored."

"My son has a smooth tongue," Ctrynous told her with a small smile. He settled down beside her, and even _that_ was graceful. There was something in the way his horse legs curled under his black, silky flank as he took his seat beside Farah.

Leander gave a small snort and settled down as well, just as gracefully as his father, across from them. "My father is just jealous."

Ignoring his son, Ctrynous's eyes drifted down toward the resting prince. "I was surprised when Hermes sought us out and told us that Anthria had agreed to fight for our cause. She is the last person I would think would care about something like war."

"Why do you say that?" Farah questioned softly. She pulled her knees to her chin and glanced over at Ctrynous as he reclined on his wide flank.

"Most of us know of her from the rumors. She's become something of a legend among those close enough to immortality to not be threatened by her power," Ctrynous explained in a serene, deep voice. His craggy face was focused on something in the distance, far out on the horizon.

"She has never done anything harmful to our kind," Leander explained to her. "Just her own. Which, I suppose, is worse than attacking someone of a different race…" He trailed off with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

"What did she do… what is she so famous for?" Farah asked before she could stop herself. She turned her head to look a Leander, sensing he would be a much more talkative person than his father.

She watched in disappointment as Leander's face shut down. He looked away from Farah and it was his father who answered her. "Anthria's story is something great and terrible and sad, but it is her story to tell."

"But it is a sad one indeed," Leander added and then caught the look in his father's eyes. He went back to looking in the distance.

Ctrynous chose that moment to stand. "Anthria has asked us to meet her by the water. We should at least head toward the sea and attempt to meet her there."

"I'll carry the Prince," Leander offered as he rose himself from the ground.

For a moment she didn't know what they were talking about. Farah stared at them in confusion, her fingers tightening over the Prince's shoulder. Then she remembered. _Oh… they're horses…_

Feeling embarrassed, she stood and helped Leander gain a firm grasp on the Prince's tunic. Together they lifted him onto Leander's flank. She looked into his weakened face and felt her heart crack. Softly, she stroked his hair and whispered a soothing song against his forehead before approaching Ctrynous.

"My lady?" the centaur said softly as he grasped Farah's wrist as she offered it. He smiled softly down at her, like an uncle would a favorite niece. "There is no need to worry. Leander and I are fierce fighters when we need to be."

She blushed and shook her head, shyly tucking a loose strand of chocolate hair behind her ear. She always did that when she was nervous. "Oh no, it's not _that_. It's just—"

"You need not worry about our discomfort," Ctrynous pointed out softly and lifted Farah off her feet. She gave a small gasp of surprise—_he's taller than he looks_—and almost squeaked when she was placed on Ctrynous's flank. "Though part of us is indeed man, we are still beasts of burden."

"Al—alright," Farah agreed even though it was still odd to think of a talking person like a horse.

"Might I suggest holding onto my shoulders? We will gain a fast pace soon enough," Ctrynous suggested and Farah weakly wrapped her arms around his shoulder.

It was an odd sensation. Farah could feel the horse muscles rippling beneath her but the shoulders she gripped were smooth and human. Centaurs were funny creatures, border lining both beast and human.

Wind ripped her hair, tugging the dark locks free of their entrapment. Farah tilted her head to the sky, smiling as her skin lapped up the gentle rays of the afternoon sun. She had never felt this free before. With the wind caressing her face and the open plains sprawling out before her, Farah found her worries slowly fading away.

She sighed deeply and relaxed her muscles, going slack against Ctrynous. Everything was falling apart, changing rapidly, but she was content, for this moment, to ignore it all.

But all too soon did it come to an end. The movements of Ctrynous, the wild and carefree gallop he had taken, began to slow. She opened her eyes and blinked as the old centaur came to a halt.

Before them stretched an endless plain of blue. The ocean. Or the sea. Farah didn't know. But she realized she had never seen so much water in one place before. Though she had been surrounded by trees in India, and it had rained often there, she had never been to the sea before.

"The Aegean Sea," Leander told her as he gently lowered the Prince to the soft, sandy ground. "Two days from here is Chios."

"We'll be on a ship for two days?" Farah questioned and felt her heart thud in her chest. She had never been on a ship at all—

"It won't be so bad," Ctrynous told her. "We are horses and we don't mind sailing. Once you get your sea legs you won't mind."

"I _hate_ sailing," Leander muttered.

Farah gave them a ghost of a smile and took her seat beside the Prince. He moaned softly in his sleep and turned into her lap, taking shallow breathes. "We have to hurry," she muttered, touching his feverish forehead.

"Anthria of Sparta is fighting for you," Ctrynous pointed out. "You have more than a good chance of saving the boy."

She looked down at the Prince and prayed the centaur was right.

* * *

**story notes:** (1) don't believe everything they tell you in the Disney movie. Hermes was actually young, feisty, and considered the 'trickster god'. In the myths involving him, he is said to have been constantly pulling tricks on Apollo and Zeus. I made him a bit crueler in my story, but his major characterization is taken from the actual myth.

(2) Chios is an actual island off the coast of Greece, close to modern-day Turkey, which was, supposedly, the resting place of Troy. In mythology it is the home of Asceplius, god of healing, a lesser known god and son of Apollo.

(3) In mythology, Centaurs were wild and uncontrollable creatures. Half-man and half-horse. They were known for stealing human woman off and raping them. Only Chiron was an exception to the rule. He was kind and wise and was said to be the teacher of Apollo.

**Reviews **

**HeartsnDiamonds:** thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it.

**Super Becki:** I do try. I'm actually pleased with how the plotline is coming along, especially after only the second try of writing it down. It's a rarity for me.

**camcalli:** oooh, a degree in classical archeology? You know I considered being an archeology for all of two seconds. As for Warrior Within and Two Thrones. I've never played WW (and I have intention of doing so) but T2T was a pretty decent game, as far as sequels go. Of course, SoT will always be my favorite but I liked how the wrapped up the series in T2T.

**Sakura123:** you caught that, did you? I admit, I was a fan of Xena back when I was real little. Ah, I remember Saturday afternoon of sitting in front of the TV watching Xena. Stopped after she had her baby, though I can't remember why. I've liked chatty!Ares better than crybaby!Ares anyway, which why he isn't a crybaby in my story. I guess, both my version and the Xena version of Ares is more aimed at the Roman counterpart Mars than the actual Greek version.

**Specter Von Baron:** apparently, my subscription with AOL ran out and I didn't know. Obviously, that's all fixed now! XD

**The One and Only Red Wulf Riot:** I like to think I made Ares more a Roman Mars. Since Mars was the patron god of Rome they made him more deadly and powerful than the Greeks. And since a powerful and deadly Ares makes a better villain, I modeled him after Mars. If you read Roman myths, you'll notice that Mars is a big, burly guy with a knack for causing trouble and getting what he wants. Hey, look, it's my Ares!

**Rexnos:** oh yes, I know there are many typos and grammatical errors in the earlier chapters of this story. That's why I now have a beta! Yay! As for mythology, I have been studying for several years, as well. I'm a bit of a Mediterranean mythology and pre-Christian Roman society buff. I know how I portray Hades isn't exactly how he's shown in mythology. However, if you read some of the lesser-known myths, you find that Hades is the least liked god in Olympus. In fact, the gods pretty much exclude him from their daily activities. And it is said there, that Hades cares little for the gods on Mount Olympus as well. In those lesser-known myths it is noted that Hades _couldn't_ get involved in such things like war and death as it would tip the balance in the scale. However, Hades didn't like either Zeus or Neptune for the fact that he had to deal with the dead while they got the sky and the ocean. Myths never actually say what Hades real emotions on the subject of Zeus is, but due to the information I have collected on him (and based on the fact that he is an outcast among the gods) I'd wage he was willing to do whatever he could to get even with them. That's just me!

**Emerald Dawn Black:** poor Farah. You know something? By the time this is over, she's going to have the worst headache in the history of the world!

**Black-Phoenix10:** I'm only mean to the characters I love! Which is weird… but true…

**Next Chapter Preview**

_"The seas are soft tonight," Anthria pointed out as she approached Ctrynous. "We should leave now. Besides, the boy does not have much time left."_

"_As you wish it," Ctrynous replied and nodded to Leander. Tenderly, the younger centaur picked up the Prince and carried him over to Anthria. Farah followed behind him silently. Anthria motioned to the boat._

"_There is one bed beneath the wheel," she told the centaur. "Take the prince down below. The rest of us will have to make do with the deck."_

"_Understood, my lady," Leander said and leapt onto the boat with an expert grace. His hoof clattered against the floorboards and he disappeared below the ship._

"_And you, Farah?" Anthria asked as Ctrynous moved to follow his son. She kept her eyes locked with Farah's dark ones. "How do you fair?"_

"_Weary," she admitted and walked into the sea, the water lapping at her ankles. "And worried. The Prince will survive, won't he?"_

"_If we can get him to Asclepuis then there is no doubt that the boy will be fine." Anthria smiled humorlessly as she said, "He _is _the finest healer of all the immortals."_

… _Anthria took a seat beside Farah as she focused all her attention on the Prince. With a sigh, she took the cloth on the Prince's forehead and dipped it back into the cool bowl. Then she placed it back on its position._

"_There was—is—a law in Sparta," Anthria said slowly, a tinge of sadness in her voice. "That said for every household, one person must fight in the army. It did not mention gender nor age nor disability."_

_Hardly daring to believe it, Farah held her breath. Was Anthria going to tell her? Tell her about her tragic past?_

"My father fought for my household and at the end of the war came back to us paralyzed." Anthria raised her eyes and looked away, into the far off past. "I was nineteen and only a few months after my father's return I married. It was an arranged marriage and I had never met the man before."

_Her story was so much like Farah's only… only Farah was kidnapped before she was forced into a marriage of arrangement._


	10. A Thing for Killing

**Disclaimer:** cha, right.

**spoilers:** see prologue

**Author's note:** this should've been up days ago, but the Internet was down at my house for a good while so I'm only now just getting up. Stupid AOL, _broadband_ or no.

**warnings:** the timeline might boggle your mind. Just trust me.

* * *

_/Chapter Nine: A Thing for Killing/_

"**And it isn't the shame and it isn't the blame  
****That stings like a white-hot band  
****It's coming to know that she never knew why  
(Seeing at last she could never know why)  
****And never could understand."  
**-Rudyard Kipling, "The Vampire"

* * *

Dusk had barely begun to settle over the sandy shores of the Aegean Sea when Farah began to drift off into sleep. Guilty, she struggled to remain awake until she felt a strong hand on her shoulder.

She blinked and looked into the dark, soothing eyes of Ctrynous. "Rest now, my lady. Leander and I will watch over the camp."

If you could call where they rested a camp. It was mostly the trodden area where Ctrynous and his son Leander had walked. In the center rested Farah, with the Prince's weakening head on her lap.

Her fingers cupped the smooth plain of her cheek as she rested her elbow on her knee. Despite her guilt over it, she found herself drifting once more. Her body had been a constant state of tiredness ever since her kidnapping. No matter how much she slept it seemed she could never rest.

In her sleep, the dreams returned to her. Flashes of fragments of memories that drifted through the expanse of her brain.

…Waking up beside him. Farah frowned. Who was 'him'? She couldn't remember. Everything was a blank slate in her mind. This place, dusty and reeking with age, was dim, only a small candle as light.

_She rested on a wide slab of stone, her head pillowed against a bare, muscled chest. She blinked in surprise. What had…?_

_And then she was standing up, moving across the dirt ground. Her movements were not her own. It was almost as if they were happening to someone else, even though it was her body that was moving. She had no control over what she did._

_Her fingers closed over the silver handle of a dagger. Farah lifted it and watched it shine in the light and then placed it at her waist belt._

_It was the Dagger of Time!_

_But what—_

_How…?_

Farah jolted awake blinking. Her fingers slipped down and pressed against the cool metal of the Dagger of Time. It had been in her dream. She had never dreamt about the Dagger before.

And it had all seemed so real. She could remember the warmth of her living pillow—the soft, human chest beneath her dark head—the dim light of the candles, and the deep, regretful ache of her chest.

What had that been? It seemed too vivid to be a dream, but too vague to be a memory. And how could it be somewhere between that? What was between a dream and a memory?

"You slept no more than two hours, my lady," Leander said softly. He sat across from her and Farah could barely make him out in the darkness. Ctrynous was a dark silhouette against the crystal water that lapped against his hooves.

Moonlight played against the sea, like a silver sheen had been lowered gently onto the dark waters.

"Has Anthria come yet?' she asked even though she could tell by herself.

"No. But have no fear. I have never heard of Anthria not keeping her word. Especially when it's bound to a god," Leander pointed out gently. There was a half smile on his face, part of it hidden in the darkness.

Just as he said that Ctrynous' equally soft voice called, "On the horizon… Lady Anthria's boat approaches." All heads turned to the spot where the wizened centaur gazed. And, indeed, a small, wooden boot made its way steadily toward them, gliding ghostlike across the sea.

And the boat went to beach, Anthria jumped from its mast. She grabbed a long coil of rope from its side and dragged it fully up the beach. It was a small boat, with a small roof over the bottom half of it, and a long mast, with the captain's wheel on the roof.

"The seas are soft tonight," Anthria pointed out as she approached Ctrynous. "We should leave now. Besides, the boy does not have much time left."

"As you wish it," Ctrynous replied and nodded to Leander. Tenderly, the younger centaur picked up the Prince and carried him over to Anthria. Farah silently followed behind him. Anthria motioned to the boat.

"There is one bed beneath the wheel," she told the centaur. "Take the prince down below. The rest of us will have to make do with the deck."

"Understood, my lady," Leander said and leapt onto the boat with expert grace. His hooves clattered against the floorboards and he disappeared below the ship.

"And you, Farah?" Anthria asked as Ctrynous moved to follow his son. She kept her eyes locked with Farah's. "How do you fair?"

"Weary," she admitted and walked into the water, the water lapping at her ankles. "And worried. The Prince will survive, won't he?"

"If we can get him to Asclepuis then there is no doubt that the boy will be fine." Anthria smiled humorlessly as she said, "He _is_ the finest healer of all the immortals."

"Who is Asclepuis(1)?" Farah asked as she approached Anthria as the older woman coiled the rope around her wrist.

"He is a man-turned-immortal," Anthria answered with her humorless smile still in place. "There are a few of them. Hercules, Psyche, and Asclepuis are probably the best known ones." She tossed the rope onto the deck of the boat.

Farah had just begun to wonder how she was going to go about getting onto the boat when Anthria grabbed her hips. As Farah gave a small squeak of surprise, Anthria unceremoniously lifted her onto the wooden deck and then leapt up herself.

"You mean there is an actual way for a mortal to become… immortal?" Farah asked, surprised.

"Not normally. Most of the mortals that are turned into gods have some connection to them, save for Psyche but she married Eros." Anthria motioned silently to Ctrynous. The centaur jumped from the boat to push it gently into the water. "Asclepuis was the son of Apollo, the sun god, and the nymph Coronis."

Anthria paused in her explanation the climb up the small ladder leading to the steering wheel. Farah followed and sat down at the railing, waiting patiently for the woman to continue with her story.

"Well," Anthria said after a long pause. She glanced over at Farah as the young woman brought her knees to her chin. "Coronis actually had the gull to take a secret lover while she was with Apollo. The god was enraged and he had his twin sister, Artemis, kill Coronis with a disease. However, when the young nymph's body was burning on the pyre, Apollo saved the baby that still grew in her womb and Asclepuis was born."

"How could a man do that?" Farah demanded as she stared up into the night sky. "To his own son?"

"Well, the gods are not known for their kindness," Anthria pointed out softly. "They are not known for it at all. Asclepuis was raised by Chiron, the wise and calm centaur, and he was taught the healing art. Most gods feared that he it would only be a matter of time before Asclepuis could even stop death. Thus, Zeus banished him to the small isle of Chios, where he heals only those brave enough to seek him out."

"Is it very dangerous? Chios?"

"Only if you're not prepared for the worst." Humorlessly, Anthria looked at Farah over her shoulder. "And I am _always_ prepared for the worst."

It was the bitterest sentence Farah had ever heard. She thought it must have said a lot about Anthria's previous life. _I am always prepared for the worst_. Farah thought that Anthria's life had to be bitter and hard for that tone of voice to fit so perfectly with her. Then she remembered something.

Ctyrnous's words.

"_Anthria's story is something great and terrible and sad, but it is her story to tell."_

"You're a noble person, Anthria," Farah told her and was surprised at her own words. They tumbled out of her before she could stop herself and somehow they held a ring of truth to them. Noble. That fit Anthria.

Regally, she raised her chin in a stubborn protest. "I am _not_ noble."

"You don't have to be a good person to be noble," Farah pointed out gently, staring into her Amazon features. "And you're tragic, too. I can tell by looking into your eyes. What made you so bitter to everything?"

Anthria said nothing. For the first time, her face tightened in an uncontrollable rage. Her fingers locked around the wooden handles of her steering wheel until her knuckles turned white.

"Anthria, what—"

"It is none of your concern," Anthria growled menacingly. Farah almost jumped. This was why everyone said Anthria was intimidating, so deadly. _This_ voice she spoke in. Final. Deadly.

Then Farah stood weakly, feeling her heart pound. She was frightened, frightened of tomorrow, frightened of now, frightened of Anthria. "I'll go check on… on him." She turned hurriedly and made her way down.

"Damnit," Anthria cursed.

--&--

The next day the skies still remained peaceful and clear. Anthria stood resting at the mast, hips slanted. At the tip of the boat, Leander stood, looking worse for wear. He was not handling the boat trip well.

Farah was down below, tending to the Prince as he came in and out of coconsciousness, trying vainly to cool his fever.

She was afraid of her, Anthria could tell. There was a guarded look in Farah's eyes whenever they landed on Anthria, like she wanted to say something but was afraid it would cause the tension of last night.

_My fault…_ Anthria thought and rubbed her temples. _A lot of things are my fault._

Ctrynous came up beside her, his hooves clanking against the flanks of the ship. She said nothing as he settled on his hooves next to her. "Farah is—" he began and stopped when Anthria turned her head to look at him.

"I am aware." And she wasn't going to do anything about it. The scars were still raw. Would she allow _anyone_ to look at them, ever. "Yes?"

"You do not share your story, though you have worked with many," Ctrynous pointed out gently. "But despite it, your story still has been told. I know it, as my son knows it. The Princess Farah is your companion, for now anyway. Do you not think it is her right to hear the true version of the tale?"

"No," Anthria said in a voice that was final. Ctrynous gave a small sigh and he too leaned against the mast of the ship.

"Anthria of Sparta," Ctrynous said in a small voice. "Many hate you, many have cause to. But there are people who respect what you did once, before Hades became your master. The girl has a right to know."

She pushed herself from the mast and went to walk away. Ctrynous watched her go to the steering wheel of the ship and stare out into the sinking sun. It splattered gold rays over the dark ocean.

"Look upon her, Anthria," Ctrynous said softly and drew Anthria's reluctant attention to him once more. "She is young and frightened and possibly in love. She is risking everything to protect her family and her future. Does she remind you of anyone? A young soldier perhaps?"

"Silence, centaur," Anthria said harshly and the wizen horse-man walked away, leaving the woman with a sour taste in her mouth.

--&--

"No… Dagger…" The Prince twisted in his sleep, twining the thin sheet over his sweating body around his legs. "Stop… have to… _time_…"

Humming softly, Farah dipped a thin, white cloth into a cool bowl of water. After one day, she had gotten used to the Prince's incoherent muttering. She gently lowered the cool cloth to the Prince's sweltering forehead.

Without warning, the Prince grabbed her wrist. Farah gave a small scream of surprise, but wasn't truly scared. He pulled her closely and his unseeing eyes opened to stare blindly at her.

"Don't—don't…" he murmured, his grip on her wrist tightened. "…hate me—don't…" He released and fell back onto the bad, moaning softly.

She stared down at his clenched and frightened face. All she wanted to do was hold him and chase away whatever nightmares haunted him. She brushed away the hair from his face and mumbled softly, "I'll protect you… don't worry. I'll watch over you until you're better."

"Farah—" he rasped and she backed away slightly, blushing.

Why on earth would he say her name in his sleep? Yes, he had been the Persian soldier to reveal to her the treachery of the Vizier, but other than that it seemed like they knew nothing else of each other.

Farah settled back in her seat beside the Prince. He slept on a hammock hooked into the wall in the small bedroom of the ship they sailed to Chios on.

Her fingers touched his bare arm and a funny sensation tickled her stomach. It was almost as if she had done this all before, touched the Prince like this when she knew she hadn't. It was almost familiar and almost new, somewhere between the two. She couldn't explain, but seeing her tanned hand on his dark skin made her mind twist and reel with an almost memory that wouldn't form completely in her head.

Sandals scraped against the wooden stairs leading into the small room and Farah turned to see Anthria come into the dim room. Night had settled above deck and she bore a small candle in her arm.

Quickly, she looked away. She had been careful to avoid Anthria ever since that night on the boat. By asking that question about her past, Farah had brought up the anger in Anthria. She didn't want to do so again.

And yet… she still wanted to know.

Anthria took a seat beside Farah as she focused all her attention on the Prince. With a sigh, she took the cloth on the Prince's forehead and dipped it back into the cool bowl. Then she placed it back on its position.

"There was—is—a law in Sparta," Anthria said slowly, a tinge of sadness in her voice. "That said for every household, one person must fight in the army. It did not mention gender nor age nor disability."

Hardly daring to believe it, Farah held her breath. Was Anthria going to tell her? Tell her about her tragic past?

"My father fought for my household and at the end of the war came back to us paralyzed." Anthria raised her eyes and looked away, in the far off past. "I was nineteen and only a few months after my father's return I married. It was an arranged marriage and I had never met the man before."

Her story was so much like Farah's only… only Farah was kidnapped before she was forced into a marriage of arrangement.

"But he was a kind man, my husband, and no more than a child as I. His family had been taken by a fever and so he lived with us on our farm. Within a year, I loved him. It wasn't hard," Anthria admitted softly, her eyes growing farther and farther away. "But war was not far from us. It never is far from Sparta. Within the second year of our peaceful marriage Sparta clamored for war. My husband went for my father, and my mother, and myself."

The Prince moaned softly, jerking his head to the left. Farah touched his cheek with her cool finger, whispering soothingly to him. "Hush, hush."

Undaunted by the incoherent mumblings of the Prince, Anthria went on, "For seven long years my husband fought in the war against Athens. And then… the war was over and the soldiers were allowed to come home. My husband returned to us not the boy he left as, but as a man. A full, grown man." She sighed softly, a breath parting through her lips. "And I was no longer a girl. I had learned how to survive by myself as my parents grew weak and old."

And in her mind, Anthria could see that day as if it had all happened yesterday…

_The blazing Spartan sun, the dusty ground, the decaying roots of crops burning in the summer heat. The stone, open villa she lived on. Her mother gardens behind the house and her father rests on a smooth cot beside her._

_She hangs out their clothes on the stone, two-foot wall in front of her house. Her fingers have callous' from the work she has done on the farm. Soldiers pass through their farm daily and she has a sword beside her hip._

_That is when she hears the undeniable sound of sandals hitting the dead earth. As the wind picks up and blows at her long, thick chiton she reaches down for her sword. "Move along, I do not wish to harm you and we have nothing of interest for you."_

"_I think you do," the soldier answers and Anthria draws her sword from its sheath. "After all, you _are _my wife."_

_Gasping, she spins, the sword dropping to her feet. She will always remember what it is like to see him standing there, armor glittering in the sun and a worn rucksack slung over his shoulder._

_They stare at each other for a long moment, his dark eyes piercing even with one covered by a curtain of his own dark locks. Then she steps towards him, whispering his name—a name she no longer has the courage to speak. Then, without any pretense, he grabs her by the hips and brings her against his harsh amour, devouring her mouth like a starving man would food. She rests against his arms and let him._

"For almost four months, he was allowed to stay with us, my husband. They were the happiest times of my life…" She smiled weakly, touching her lips as she could still feel her husband's lingering taste. "Then another war began, this time against Messenia(1). My husband went again, to fight for us, and he… died in the first battle, his troupe caught by surprise by the enemy. They sent his ashes home and I scattered them to the wind, praying they would protect my family."

Though Farah knew that had been coming it still came as a shock when Anthria told her. She looked into her face and saw the pain there. Anthria's memories of gathering up the ashes of her husband and allowing them to the fly into the wind around her house.

"Within the next year, I had our son," Anthria went on softly. Her hands slid down to touch her abdomen. "Arion, after his father. For three years, I raised him in love and happiness. But Sparta was still at war with Messenia and I had to fight as I was the only one capable. I was… skilled at fighting. It seemed I had the natural flare for it. For three long years I worked with a group of soldiers in covert operations, bringing the Messenians soldiers to their knees. And then… the Messenian War was almost over."

"Wait," Farah said suddenly. She looked away from the Prince and into Anthria's distant eyes. "Wait. The Messenian War?" Her mind clicked with the information, the images of the pages from the books she had read danced in her head. "But that was… forty-three… _forty-five_ years ago!"

"Yes," Anthria admitted softly. It was.

"But you can't be more than—than thirty five!" Farah protested and stood. "How can you be—?"

Anthria stood and made her way to the stairs, a horrified Farah staring after her. Then she glanced at the young woman over her shoulder and said, softly, "The god of death has many powers to give to his servants."

Then, before Farah could ask another question, she turned and ascended the wooden stairs. Farah took her seat beside the Prince and stared at the spot where she had stood in confusion.

_How can that be…?_ she wondered vaguely as she stroked the Prince's sweating face. _How can she be that old… and not look old? She has to be close to sixty and she looks like she's thirty…_

--&--

When dawn broke on the horizon the next day, Anthria could see the strip of land in the distance. Chios was small and narrow, filled with thick trees and a long beach. She crossed her arms over her chest and waited for the wind to take them to the isle.

Leander came up beside her and admitted, "We have gotten here early." He glanced at her over his shoulder and gave her a small smile.

"There have been fair and fast winds for our journey," Anthria agreed with a calm and neutral voice. She had been distant and neutral all day because she was afraid that if she opened her heart to anyone that her emotions would flood her heart and burst.

"The gods have favored us," Leander pointed out. "Poseidon has seen to it that the winds take us swiftly to Chios so we can save the boy."

"I stopped relying on the gods to help me," Anthria said bitterly. "I know what comes from their… _help_."

"You are bitter. Very bitter. If you do not find a way to heal your ancient wrongs you will never find peace," Leander pointed out in wisdom. "That is something my father has told me, often. Chiron's own words to him."

"I will never have peace," Anthria told him harshly. She shrugged. "Years ago I came to understand it. I wish only for death and, before I die, to see those who have betrayed me also dead."

"They say the man you seek is dead," Leander pointed out.

"He is _not_ dead. If he was, there would be a lessening in my empty heart. He is hiding," Anthria muttered and narrowed her eyes. "And I _will_ see him dead before I take my path to Tartarus."

Leander shook his head and said nothing more. His long, black tail swished behind him as the island came closer and closer to them.

For almost an hour they stood in complete silence. Leander asked nothing more and Anthria offered just as much. The boat rocked beneath them in a gentle, soothing motion but they remained tense.

And then, Anthria turned and walked to the door leading to the room underneath the boat. "Ctrynous," she called down. "Prepare Farah and the Prince. We are going to land soon." Then she closed the door and made her way to the steering wheel.

By the time Farah and Ctrynous had managed to place the Prince on Leander's back, Anthria was beaching the boat. It slid up the sandy beach until it jerked to a halt. Anthria leapt from the captain's perch and landed softly beside Farah and the centaurs.

The centaurs were the first to leave the boat. Their hooves splashed up water as they galloped up the beach. Anthria leapt from the boat as well, the water lapping at her knees, and helped Farah get down. Together they trudged through the water, Anthria keeping a firm grip on Farah's arm.

Leander and Ctrynous walked in front of them, shaking their thick hides free of water. Farah and Anthria settled for shivering in their wet clothes. The sun was already beginning to become hot and no doubt their clothes would dry fast.

The forest of Chios was only a few yards away from them. Anthria quickly took the lead and Farah and the centaurs followed. Farah was sure to keep beside the Prince as he jerked away and then fell back to sleep again and again.

They were less than a yard away from the forest when Anthria held up her hand and made everyone halt. Her face was dark and enraged as she glanced around them.

"What is it?" Farah asked softly, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest. There was something _wrong_. She could feel it.

Leander growled deeply in his throat and backed up, the Prince bouncing on his back. His head was jerked around and his left, front leg was twitching. Whatever was wrong with the island, he felt it too.

"I can smell them," Ctrynous said suddenly as his face darkened in a mask of rage. "They _reek_ of blood."

"It's a trap," Anthria said grimly.

Before Farah could completely understand what was happening, a dark net descended on all of them.

* * *

**story notes:** (1) Asclepius was the actual god of healing, though he's a lesser known god. Before he became a good (he was only a demigod because his mother was a mere nymph), Zeus was said to have become enraged with him for selling his ability to raise the dead (a power no mortal should have). So Zeus struck Asclepius down with a thunder bolt but relented when he saw the good Asclepius had done and made him a god.

(2)the Messenian Wars took place in 7th and 8th century BC between Messenia and Sparta. There are many myths surrounding the wars and it is nearly impossible to separate fact from fiction. However, it is known that Messenia lost both wars and were made helots under Spartan rule. However, Messenians were a constant threat to Sparta and this was what forced them to be become a warlike city-state.

**reviews**

**Super Becki:** well, I aim to please

**Rexnos:** well, the real mythology is better than the crap Disney throws at us. In fact, I couldn't stand _Troy_ and it's not only because I hate Brad Pitt. Okay, that helped a lot.

**Sakura123:** I miss Xena sometimes. But now I watch Grey's Anatomy, which is just addicted. Though I tend to hate the assholes in that show. It's easier to dive into mythology in a post-SoT world because SoT itself was like a taste of mythology. Warrior Within… not so much.

**Black Emerald Dawn:** my love affair with Greek and Roman mythology started at the tender age of 10 with the tale of Psyche and Cupid (which is one of the only stories with a happy end in all of mythology). Since then I've pretty much eaten everything I could find on culture, history, and myths on both Greece and Rome. Latin student, baby!

**Jess:** so no. Prince-y not awakened yet… but soon! Promise. The story _is_ Prince of Persia, right? Right?

**The One and Only Redd Wulf Riot:** I liked centaurs, too. Or I did right up until I found out they raped people Oo My favorite mythological creatures are probably the Naiads, which make an appearance in this story (duh) followed by the Sirens.

**Next Chapter Preview **

"_Tengu!" Anthria cried in Farah's ears._

_Weakly, she managed to raise her head and look at their new enemies. They were half-man, half-bird creatures. Short and lean, there faces gray and their noses abnormally long. They were long cloaks of black features and flew across the land, squawking. They dived at them and Farah felt the sharp beak of one jet into her skull._

_Anthria pressed her hand against Farah's head to keep her safe. Struggling against the binding of the net, Farah tried to gain a hold on an arrow and her bow._

"_Leander!" Ctrynous cried. "Get the Prince into the forest. Go!"_

_Farah managed to turn just in time to see Leander blazing past them, kicking his hind legs at the tengu creatures as he rode by. Farah realized that by backing up before the tengu had made themselves apparent, he had avoided becoming trapped by the net…_

… _Farah felt her fingers tightened over her bow and her fear brought forth another magickal energy that hovered inches above her knuckles. "What is this place?" she mumbled, feeling as if too loud a noise would disturb the silence that surrounded the area._

"_The temple of Asclepius," Anthria answered, just as quiet._

_Silently, they walked forward. On each side of the stone path was a flowing pool of water, overgrown with moss and lily pads and waterweeds. The water was dark and it was impossible to tell how deep it went._

_But when she continued to look at it, she thought she saw—_

_Anthria turned and faced her when Farah halted in front of the small pool. "What is it?"_


	11. The Forest of Healing

**Disclaimer:** cha, right

**Spoilers:** again with the prologue

**Author's Notes:** there are countless reasons as to why this is so damn late. But, for prudence's sake, I'll go over to. 1) Lazy and 2) school. Yes, both things tend to get in my way and cause late updates. _However_, be reassured that as long as this story remains up it means that it _will_ be updated in the foreseeable future.

And reviews always help.

**warnings:** those naiads? They're _naked_ ladies, with breasts and everything!

* * *

_/Chapter Ten: The __Forest__ of Healing/_

**"Tyger! Tyger! Burning bright,  
****In the Forests of the Night,  
****What Immortal hand or eye  
****Could frame thy fearful symmetry?"  
**-William Blake, "Tyger! Tyger!"

* * *

The netting wrapped around Farah's head and shoulders. She screamed loudly and tried to claw her way free. Anthria reached out and grabbed her, forcing them both to the ground. Beside them Ctrynous's laboring mass tripped to the ground, the net locking around his legs and forcing him to fall.

"Tengu(1)!" Anthria cried in Farah's ears.

Weakly, she managed to raise her head and look at their new enemies. They were half-man, half-bird creatures. Short and lean, there faces gray and had either abnormally long noses or jet black beaks. They wore long cloaks of black features and flew across the land, squawking. They dived at them and Farah felt the sharp beak of one jet into her skull.

Anthria pressed her hand against Farah's head to keep her safe. Struggling against the binding of the net, Farah tried to gain a hold on an arrow and her bow.

"Leander!" Ctrynous cried. "Get the Prince into the forest. Go!"

Farah managed to turn just in time to see Leander blazing past them, kicking his hind legs at the tengu creatures as he rode by. Farah realized that by backing up before the tengu had made themselves apparent, he had avoided becoming trapped by the net.

One tengu raised a long, pointed finger at Leander. Two of the tengu nodded and took off after the young centaur, their raven capes fluttering behind them as they flew. Farah screamed in warning to Leander and the centaur turned around to face his enemies.

They brought their claws down on his hide, the crow like monsters. Leander was only a foot away from the forest but he kept his back to it. Anthria shouted something to the centaur that only created a buzzing noise in Farah's head.

"Keep on going!" Anthria shouted, her lips screaming into Farah's ear. "Into the forest! They can't hurt you if you just get into the forest!"

But Leander didn't obey. Keeping the Prince guarded he threw his arms up in the air in an attempt to keep a firm grip on one of his assailants. But they were fast and furious creatures, dancing in the air, causing the young centaur to grapple only the air.

"Son!" Ctrynous thundered wildly, kicking his legs out in a panic. "Son, _run_!"

One of the tengu reared up in the air as the other kept Leander busy. Anthria's struggles increased and Ctrynous was shouting again. Farah felt like the air had been spirited from her chest and she was left gasping in a panic.

And then the tengu descended, its jagged nail pointed in an arrow position. Leander saw and backed up, throwing his front legs out in front of him. But the tengu buried its claws deep into Leander's throat, sending blood pouring down his bare chest. His dark eyes were opened in horror as if to ask if this was how it was going to end.

His body thundered to the ground. The Prince, unconscious and unscarred, rolled limply from the dead centaur. He landed only a foot within the forest as his young, horse-like protector collapsed in a dead heap a foot away.

Tears blurred Farah's vision as she stared down at the still body of Leander. _He was so young… only a little older than me… and he… he's dead._ She wanted to curl up somewhere deep within her herself and close her eyes until it all went away. Like a child, she wanted to pretend that the monsters were not real.

Those monsters, though, were circling above their heads and they _were_ real.

There was a tear and Farah felt the thin, binding net around her fly off her shoulders. She glanced up to see Anthria, face grim and serious, with a sword in her hand. Ctrynous thundered passed them, determined to avenge his fallen son.

"We have to get to the forest," Anthria shouted over the cackles of the tengu. "We cannot fight them here." She grabbed Farah by the shoulders and pulled her up. Farah was thrown forward by Anthria's imposing hand and they barreled through the mess of tengu, Anthria swinging her sword in defense.

The tengu stopped chasing them the minute they stepped a foot into the forest. The bird creatures howled and jerked their bodies away from the woods as fast they could, as if being close to the woodlands burned them.

"Ctrynous, come!" Anthria ordered as she stepped to the edge of the forest, staring over at the wizened centaur as he engaged the tengu. "You cannot win this fight."

"They have murdered my son!" Ctrynous cried as he grabbed a tengu and forced the beast to the ground, snapping its neck. "I will not let them live."

"Ctrynous!" Farah cried, attempting to go after him. Anthria grabbed her by the wrist and kept her from leaving the protection of the forest. "Come with us, _please_!"

But before the centaur could answer, the tengu screamed and surrounded him. All the tengu that still breathed covered him with their dark feathers. From Ctrynous's place in the circle a mess of tengu wings and claws they heard him cry out.

"No," Farah whispered and felt her throat tighten. "_No_." Shaking, she drew an arrow from the hostler on her hip. She notched the golden-fletched arrow and took aim. But, by then, it was already too late.

The tengu dispersed from Ctrynous and the centaur, his bare chest and neck covered with blood and claw marks, slid to the ground. He gasped in a shallow breath, staring over at Anthria and Farah, before looking at his son. Blood pooled along the deep gash in his throat.

Farah watched in sickness as a light extinguished from Ctrynous's eyes. They were still open, those dark irises, but they no longer saw anything. Farah thought back to the day she had been taken captive. The look in the soldiers eyes, and Rosalind's and—_Rashym_—they had all had the same look.

Hate filled Farah's heart suddenly, taking her on the bumpy, dangerous ride. She wanted the tengu to suffer, these cruel creatures who only knew pain and suffering. These creatures that cackled over the two dead bodies who had only tried to do some good—_they were trying to help me_—and licked their long claws covered in blood. She _hated_ them. Hated them so much.

A blinding light circled the tip of her arrowhead. Farah pulled the thin, piece of wood back, taking aim. The blinding light became smaller, but no less potent, and hovered pinpointed at the very tip of her arrow.

With a cry she released it. Tiny, bright tendrils of iridescent light marked the vapor trail of the arrow. It struck the heart of a tengu and it cried out as its dark body burst into pure white flames. Twin things of luminescent light burst from its hide and shot into the bodies of the tengus beside it. They too joined the fate of their brethren in burning alive.

The remaining tengu fled, snarling at Farah as they flew. Shaking, she lowered her bow and stared at it. Her arm vibrated with the power of the arrow she had just shot. The electrifying energy zinged up her arm to a place in her neck, where it was left hollow and warm. Her amulet—the gift from her mother that she never took off—glowed against her skin.

"How did you do that?" Anthria asked her slowly. Her eyes were focused and narrowed on Farah's bow, the magick warmth of it fading.

"I don't know," Farah responded, just as slow. She looked into Anthria's eyes. "How do you think I did it?"

"The gods watch over you. Or him." She jerked her head over to where the Prince lay. "He gave it to you, didn't he?" Farah nodded jerkily as Anthria went down to pick up the Prince. "Asclepius is in the center of his pure forest."

"Is that why the tengu could not chase us?" Farah questioned as they walked deeper and deeper into the darkness. "Because of its purity?"

"The forest is protected by Asclepuis. He can transcend death, he can cause it just as well," Anthria answered. "Hades sought him out for me… once…"

"Why…?" Farah asked softly, but Anthria wouldn't answer and they soon fell into silence, with only the small, pained moans of the Prince as a break in the consuming silence.

As they walked deeper and deeper into the thick forest, it became darker and more silent. A canopy of thick leaves blocked whatever sunlight might have penetrated the depths of the woodland. And yet, it was not a frightening thing. There was a peaceful, calming nature to the darkness and silence.

Suddenly, the dirt ground became solid and smooth, white stone. Tree roots cracked the smooth stone and eroded the narrow path it created. It went down into the darkness, the white stone, until it was impossible to see where it ended. The trees had separated, leaving a square patch of free land, but the leaves and branches of the forest grew over the sky and continued to block out the light of the sun.

Farah felt her fingers tighten over her bow and her fear brought forth another magickal energy that hovered inches above her knuckles. "What is this place?" she mumbled, feeling as if too loud a noise would disturb the silence that surrounded the area.

"The temple of Asclepius," Anthria answered, just as quiet.

Silently, they walked forward. On each side of the stone path was a flowing pool of water, overgrown with moss and lily pads and waterweeds. The water was dark and it was impossible to tell how deep it went.

But when she continued to look at it, she thought she saw—

Anthria turned and faced her when Farah halted in front of the small pool. "What is it?"

She shook her head and looked away, at Anthria. "Nothing. Let's continue," she answered. Anthria gave her a look of disbelief but did not say a word as she turned back to the stone pathway.

And then they were there. At the altar for Asclepius. It was a platform, glowing silver in the darkness, and ascended three steps from the ground. On the platform was a tall, flat bed carved from marble. Behind it was a statue of a beautiful, naked woman wrapped within a snake gently sprinkling water onto the divan from the long tresses of her hair, that slightly covered her exposed breasts.

"Who is that?" Farah asked before she could stop herself. The statue's eyes had been replaced with two black pearls that stared at her as if they would never look away. As if they would drown her. And they were so sad, the eyes of the statue woman. Those lifeless eyes almost whispered to her the sad, tragic tale of her life.

"Coronis," Anthria replied and raised an eyebrow at her when Farah gave the Spartan woman an incredulous look. "Apollo may not have forgiven the nymph for her infidelity—hypocritical if you ask me for he was chasing many a nymph at the time—but Asclepuis loved his mother. It is the natural instinct of a child to love the womb that housed it for nine months."

With nothing more to say, they continued their journey forward. As their sandals scrapped against the stone the pools began to glow a light, translucent blue. Farah gasped as tiny, glowing balls of blue light floated from the ponds and danced around them.

Her hand reached out and closed over one of the tiny beads of light that floated around her head. A strange, tickling warmth covered the palm of her hand. But when Farah opened her hand, the tiny ball of light was gone.

"The water has magickal properties," Anthria explained without Farah having to ask. She didn't seem bothered by the watery beads of light that danced around her blonde head, glowing blue in the light. "It reacts to wounds."

The healing scars on Farah's wrists and ankles from the ropes that had once bound her healed swiftly as the glowing balls of blue light faded into her wounds. The scar on Anthria's cheekbone did not heal, nor did the bite marks on her neck.

Slowly, cautiously, Anthria ascended the steps and placed the weakening Prince on the slab of stone on the platform. She backed away and motioned for Farah to join her. The princess came up, slowly, and stood beside Farah.

"How does… he get healed?" she questioned, staring down at the Prince as he gave a small moan of pain.

"We must summon Asclepuis to his temple," Anthria replied and looked into the black pearl eyes of the statue. "However, he is most likely busy with all the usurps going on in Olympus. May I see your amulet?"

Farah blinked and almost backed away. "What?" she demanded softly as her fingers rose to wrap around the silver necklace.

"It will be returned to you," Anthria added. Farah shook her head and handed the medallion over, not bothering to mention that that hadn't been why she had hesitated in giving it.

Anthria placed the medallion over the Prince's chest and bent down on one knee. Farah, blinking, quickly followed and clasped her hands in the fashion Anthria did.

"Your medallion," Anthria said slowly as she kept her head bowed and eyes closed. "Has ancient powers woven into it."

Farah nodded, keeping silent. She had already known that. It was what her mother had said when she had first locked the amulet around Farah's seven-year-old neck.

_"Keep this with you, my darling. It is ancient and powerful and it has been passed down from mother to daughter since the dawning of time."_

"Before Zeus defeated his father, Cronos(2), it was said that the god was the Master of Time. When I looked at your amulet I sensed Time's touch on it. It is endowed with the powers of Cronos and Asclepuis will be drawn to it." Anthria's voice lowered. "God of Healing… son of Apollo… answer our call…"

And the woods went silent. Deafly silent. Farah felt the hair on the back of her neck raise in alarm. There was no gentleness, nor tranquility, to the silence this time. It was thick, overbearing, and powerful.

A blinding light burst from the statue and Farah gasped, looking up just in time to see the god step forward. A tall, board-shouldered god with a black beard and tanned skin. His eyes were black, like the statue's eyes, and his lips were set in a grim line.

Hardly surprised at all, Anthria stood as well. She rested a hand on her chiton-clad hip and nodded to the god. "Asclepuis."

"Hello, Spartan," the god replied in a booming voice. He thumped his staff on the ground. It was a long, golden staff with a snake twining its length. "Never thought I'd see you again."

"I have made a bargain with Hermes," Anthria replied with a strong and firm voice as she stepped toward the god. "I will cease Ares and Hades from starting their war with India and Persia and return Zeus to his rightful place. In return, Hermes has given this boy his soul back and promised me you would heal him."

"Yes, Hermes has informed me." Asclepius turned and touched the Prince's forehead. "But you did not need the word of Hermes to assure you I would help you, Spartan. You know that I heal anyone who can seek me out."

"You will help us, then?"

"Oh yes." Asclepius reached down and pulled the medallion from the Prince's chest. He handed it over to Anthria. "I already know this boy. A few years ago he took to drinking from my hidden fountain(3). A brave few are able to find my fountain and make themselves stronger from its water."

Anthria backed away and handed Farah her amulet. She locked the scarab necklace around her throat and waited for the healing god to continue.

Calmly, Asclepius lifted the Prince's blue tunic to examine the wound. It was a gaping hole and bleeding lightly. But it was a constant stream of blood. He turned back to Anthria and Farah.

"There are buckets beside my pools," Asclepius said calmly, as he motioned to the twin pools with his golden staff. "Fill them up with the water and bring them to me."

Farah hastened to obey and Anthria slowly followed. A wide, squat brown bucket rested at the edge of the pool on the left. Farah grabbed it and bent down beside the dark water. She dipped the bucket into the water and—

Something grabbed her wrist.

The scream that immediately flew into her throat died as Farah found herself looking into cold, emotionless eyes. It was a woman, pushing her creamy, milk-colored shoulders out of the water that gripped Farah's wrist. Without a word, the woman pushed her torso out of the pool. She was completely naked, her silvery blonde hair falling over her exposed breasts like a curtain. Everything about her was pale, even her eyes, and she held Farah's breath. Her fingers were cold around Farah's wrist, and wet.

And then someone grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back. Farah cradled her bucket of water against her chest and Anthria bent down beside her and looked into the watery woman's eyes.

"Naiad(4)," Anthria told Farah. "Water nymphs. They heal and nurture wounded spirits. That's why these pools have healing properties. Naiads live in them."

More naiads rose up from the water and joined the one that had held Farah's gaze. She didn't seem so innocent when she had held Farah's wrist. Though her pale, almost gray, lips hadn't spoken any words it was almost as if she had been whispering into Farah ears. _Let me take you into the water… let me drown you in sweet oblivion…_

"Of course, naiads are known also known to drag youths into their pools and never return them. I suppose, in their way, they think they're protecting them from the harshness of the outside world by drowning them in their pools." Anthria stood and helped Farah to her feet. "I advise caution."

"I don't plan on going near them again," Farah replied and, as they walked back to Asclepius, she looked over at the naiads. Their pale, electric blue eyes followed hers. She shuddered.

"Hurry now. This boy doesn't have much time," Asclepius called from his position in front of the Prince. "You must bring the water to me."

_"Therapevo_(5)_,"_ the naiads whispered from the pool, their gentle words reaching Anthria and Farah and wrapping around them like silk. It affected the water as well, causing it to ripple in her hands.

Farah gasped and glanced down at it. It was glowing bright blue again. And tiny beads of water light rose from Anthria and her bucket, dancing around their heads. Asclepius nodded as if he agreed with it and motioned for them to come closer.

He grabbed the bucket from Anthria's hands and set it beside the Prince's head. With his free hand he dipped his long, wrinkled fingers into the bucket. His hand came out blue and was almost see through. He touched it to the Prince's forehead.

Then the god turned and looked directly at Farah for the first time. "You, princess, take the water and do as I did for the Prince's stomach wound," he told her and she almost backed away.

"Me?" she questioned in disbelief. "Why?"

"I must perform the right incantations over this boy to keep his soul remaining in his body while his wounds heal—it's already about to leave him again—and I cannot do it if I am healing him," Asclepius replied and Farah took a deep breath.

_He's like this because he was protecting me… and I… I want to help him,_ she thought to herself and took the steps. Anthria watched her go silently and then backed away, giving them space since she was no longer needed.

Like Asclepius had done, Farah dipped her fingers into the glowing water. She felt the tingling, warming sensation of her palm. She withdrew her damp fingers, staring at her glowing tips. Flustered, she ran her fingertips across the wound on the Prince's stomach. His tanned abdomen retracted and his lips took in a shaking breath.

She watched in amazement as the wound healed itself. It was like the skin was being sown back together, the exposed blood and vessels sealed away. It stitched itself together slowly, each piece of tanned flesh move closer and closer together before it glowed a blinding blue and then was completely healed.

"Good, little one," the god called and Farah weakly raised her head to look into his dark eyes. "The boy should heal, and not a moment too soon."

Grateful, but weak, Farah lowered herself to her knees beside the dais. Asclepius turned and descended the steps, heading toward Anthria as she waited patiently for them.

"Anthria of Sparta, I suppose Hermes told you that I would have the information you need to free Zeus?" the god asked her with a small smile. Anthria nodded. "Go to Athens. You know how to get there from here, correct? Travel to Athens, then, and visit the Temple of Athena. There, she will give you all the power you need."

"I _must_ do this?" Anthria said slowly, struggling to keep her face neutral. "There is no other way?"

"No," Asclepius answered. And then he faded into the darkness, still smiling at her.

"When will he wake up?" Farah called from her position beside the Prince. Anthria walked toward them.

"Not long," she answered with a small smile.

--&--

_Pain… searing, flashing pain. It wedged into his head, into his skull, and rattled his brain. For a few blissful moments he had been spared from the pain and had gratefully floated around in inky darkness. _

_And then it had all come back to him. Flashing in his mind, again and again. Fighting, the clash of swords—"The gods are angry"—those hideous, hellish creatures, and most of all he remembered— _

_Farah! _

_Those creatures attacking her, they were going to kill her. He had to protect her because… he loved her, didn't he? She didn't remember any of it, any of their time together, but the Prince knew he loved her. _

_So he had tried to save her from those creatures. Those deadly claws had found a place in his stomach and he remembered the searing sensation of his blood pouring from the gaping hole in his stomach. _

_Then darkness… _

_But this time light filled his vision, drawing him into a world of pain and living. For a moment, the Prince struggled against it. Then he let the stream of light take him back to the world of flesh and blood. _

_He became aware of his breathing, of the air in his lungs, the expanding and contracting of his organs, the rapid and steadfast beating of his heart. _

_The Prince of __Persia__ was back. _

Gurgling on the saliva backed up in his throat, the Prince shakily managed to raise himself to a sitting position. All at once, his head spun. He moaned softly and gripped his temples. _What had happened?_

And then it all came back to him. Farah, fighting those strange creatures, and… and dying. He had to have died, didn't he? There was no way he could have survived the attack, the inflicted stomach wound. He even remembered the darkness and numbness that had surrounded him.

But here he was, sitting up and taking in gulps of fresh air.

Where was he? The Prince couldn't tell. It was dark around him, dark woodlands from what he could tell. He was sitting on a stone slab ascended lightly on a platform. It was eerily silent around him.

His fingers almost automatically reached down and touched his stomach. He blinked when he felt no blood or wound. Unable to resist, he looked down at his stomach and saw nothing but smooth skin pulled taunt over his organs.

_Healed… my wound is healed, but how?_ He gripped the smooth flesh of his stomach and was more than confused. He was worried. _Where was Farah?_

"You're awake," said a voice and the Prince jerked to his feet.

Then he stopped breathing. It was Farah standing before him, hands clasped behind her back and a small smile on her face. She was alright. He released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"How," he began as she came closer. His fingers shot out to… to… he didn't know what they wanted to do, but he knew he _had_ to touch her.

But then something caught his attention. Movement behind Farah. The Prince jumped to his feet and dragged his sword from its sheath.

It was that woman. That woman who seemed to have been the head commander of Farah's kidnapping. And she was moving right to Farah.

He grabbed her wrist and dragged her behind him. Farah opened her mouth to protest, but the Prince wasn't listening.

"You," he growled.

* * *

**story notes:** (1) tengu are nasty little bird/man creatures of Japanese origins. So how did they wind up in Ancient Greece? Well, actually, I just put them there because they're cool little buggers. Don't let the crossover bother you. Oh, and yes, don't let it bother you that they mostly hang out in mountainous areas. I just wanted them on the island. At least they're still malicious, right?

(2) Cronos was the original god who defeated Uranus his father and married his sister, a titan named Rhea. It was predicted that the child of Cronos and Rhea would rise up and kill him so Cronos ate each one of his children. When Zeus was born at last Rhea hid him and gave Cronos a stone to eat. Zeus aged, killed Cronos, cast him into the stars, and freed his siblings. No one's really sure, then, how a dead god managed to be acquainted with time, but it is likely traceable back to some primitive Grecian culture. The Roman god Saturn—counterpart of Cronos—shares similar odd origins, first being a harvest god and then a god of Time.

(3) just a weird little connection from _Sands of Time_. The question of that fountain—and their purpose—was never answered so I thought I'd give them one. So, this fountain belongs to Ascelpius and he hides them all over the world for brave, and true, heroes to locate and benefit from.

(4) naiads are Grecian sea nymphs and too often confused with sirens. Whereas sirens brought travelers to their watery graces, Naiads were kind and caring water creatures that wanted to protect those around them. However, there are many cases were Naiads are said to have dragged youths into their pools, likely to protect them from the acts of growing and life.

(5) _therapevo_ is a Latin word meaning 'to heal'. Obviously, this taking place in ancient Greece, most characters would be speaking Greek. However, computers don't often write Greek into their Microsoft Word so Latin will have to do.

**reviews**

**Daemon Velvet:** hey now, don't let my opinions stop you from checking out WW. There are tons of people out there who prefer WW to SoT. I'm just not one of them. WW is much darker and much more drawing away from the original PoP series, whereas SoT seems to fit in seamlessly. SoT Arabic vocals and music, intriguing characters, engaging story, and British voice acting. WW hardcore street justice, half-naked ladies, Godsmack, and a lackluster plot. But still, there are

**LPHottie888:** er… really sorry for the really long wait then, I guess. School's a bitch, ya know?

**Specter Von Baren:** I'm pretty much obbessed with the Greco-Roman culture in general, though I know myths better in Greece and culture better in Rome. Ah well… and I guess I could send ya some stuff on myths that I found interesting if you want…?

**bluetinkerbell:** never feel like you need to apology for life cutting in the way of fanfiction reading. It happens nearly everyone. And I think part of the reason why I got so into SoT because the romance between the Prince and Farah was so believable even if it was fast. I mean, c'mon, who wouldn't fall for that posh British hottie?

**Next Chapter Preview**

_"Lady Psyche," Anthria greeted, her voice monotonous and her heart untouched by the goddess's song. _

_Psyche turned, her moon-fine silver eyes drifting over to the woman beside her. She dropped her conch shell into the surf and approached her. "I knew you would come. I understand you, Anthria." _

_"No one understands my anymore, my lady," Anthria said calmly but with absolute certainty. Psyche sighed and turned away. "May I ask why you have descended onto the realm where you were once born?"… _

_…Without saying another word, Anthria stripped herself of her chiton. She had intended to bath when she had come to the beach and being around a god did not make her feel uncomfortable. Naked, she stepped into the alcove filled with water. _

_Psyche, unabashed by Anthria's boldness, bent down beside her. Her silver, glowing fingertips traced the outline of the scar that marred Anthria's chest, up to her neck. They were jagged and gray and deep, like teeth marks. _

_"I always wondered why you choose to keep these upon yourself," Psyche mumbled and drew away as Anthria's scars began to glow bright silver. "I know Hades could remove them. Did he refuse?" _

_"No," Anthria answered simply. "I did. I do not wish to forget."_


	12. We Go to Athens

**Disclaimer:** there you go

**Spoilers:** see the pro… well, if you haven't beaten SoT by now…

**Author's Notes:** again, we're a lot later than when I hoped to post this, but again school is a constant hamper. Especially with my stint on the high school newspaper. God, I _hate_ journalism and yet I kept joining clubs for it. WFT?

On the bright side. Most awesome news! A PoP title will be coming out for the Wii? Isn't that _great_? After all, I won't be able to afford the PS3… ever. But that means no God of War 2 and KH3? Oh noes! And if anyone wants to see the concept up of PoP IV there's a link on my profile. They look awesome, but not the Prince and Farah we have come to know and love… but that, _dude_, the girl looks like Natalie Portman

**warnings:** like none, totally. Seriously? Seriously. (I watch too much Grey's Anatomy)

* * *

_/Chapter Eleven: "We Go to Athens_"/

"**She set a rose to blossom in her hair  
****The day Faith died—  
**"**Now glad," she said, "free at last, I go,  
****And life is wide."  
****But through long nights she stared into the dark,  
****And knew she lied"  
**-Fannie Heaslip Lea, "The Dead Faith"

* * *

Everything started happening all at once at a rapid pace and Farah, the only one who might be able to stop it, was caught up in slow motion.

The Prince, ahead of her, approached the woman who had still been an enemy when he had passed out. His face was set in a deep scowl as he raised his sword defensively in front of his face.

Anthria rested her hand on one hip and watched him approach, not attempting to explain the circumstances of things to him but not drawing her sword to face him either. She simply seemed content to watch his swift approach.

Farah blinked and was snapped out of her state of shock. Gasping noisily, she managed she cry out. "Stop!"

Both the Prince and Anthria turned to face her. While they were too busy looking at her to fight each other, Farah dived in front of them, spreading her arms out wide, barracking both the Prince and Anthria from each other.

"What are you doing?" the Prince demanded, scowling down at her. She glared right into his eyes. "Get out of the way!"

"If he wishes to fight me," Anthria said calmly, not even fazed by the deadly look the Prince gave her. "Then allow him to continue. I should see if he can keep up with me while we're on the subject."

The Prince growled low in his throat at the well-aimed insult. His grip on the handle of his sword tightened and he reached out a free hand to push Farah behind him.

She locked her fingers in a vise around his wrist, turning her head over her shoulder to glare at the emotionless woman behind her. Then, with soothing eyes, she faced the Prince once more.

"You do not understand the situation," Farah explained gently, her grip softening as she ran her fingertips over his bare hand. "Things have changed."

He looked into her eyes. They spoke volumes but it was hard to think anything when she was so close after so long of her… not being in his life. It was like he was still in a dream. He couldn't focus on her words.

"Farah," he said.

A smile curved her lips as she sensed the relaxation of his muscles and nodded. She glanced over at Anthria and gave her a look. "Would you explain?"

Almost gritting her teeth, Anthria approached. The Prince locked eyes with her and she crossed her arms over her chest. "When you… were killed by the Horde of Ares… I had been betrayed by his 'partner' god. I seek revenge; protecting Farah was the easiest way for me to extract my vengeance on the god."

"So… you're not an enemy?" the Prince asked after a long pause. Anthria gave a curt nod. He snarled. "Why should I believe you?"

"It's true," Farah interjected. "You've been out for almost a week. We are on the island of Chios. The healing god, Asclepuis, has just mended your wounds."

"Well then…" The Prince eyed the Spartan woman suspiciously. "I suppose I owe you my thanks. For _saving_ my life and protecting Farah."

"I did not do it for you," the woman was quick to reply. She shrugged her thin shoulders underneath her translucent chiton. "By helping you, it was easiest to prove to the gods that I meant to help them defeat Hades and Ares."

Farah raised an eyebrow at her, surprised by her omission. Mostly because she didn't think it was true. From what she had been able to gather, the Olympian gods would have accepted her help because they needed it _that_ badly. They wouldn't have cared about Anthria proving herself.

And even if that was the truth, Anthria had been kind. In her own way. As kind as someone like Anthria could be. She had even explained to Farah parts of her past, something she didn't have to do.

"Honestly—" she began, every intention of explaining to the Prince, Anthria's true nature. Anthria must have figured that out as well.

"I am Anthria," she introduced, as well as aptly cut off Farah's explanation. "Spartan warrior, former servant to Hades, and now under commission of Hermes to set Zeus to his rightful place."

"Wait!" the Prince said with a shake of his head, holding up a hand. "What?"

"He doesn't know _anything_ about anything," Farah pointed out, half-annoyed. The Prince looked between them, confused and frustrated that he was confused. "We should explain things first."

"Fine," Anthria answered coolly and approached the stone steps behind the Prince. He kept his eyes on her and a hand on the hilt of his sword. She took a seat without hesitation. "I suggest sitting… this will be a long explanation."

And so, as Farah and the Prince joined, Anthria relayed the information she had known, and then the information she and Farah had learned on their journey to the isle of Chios. The intent of Ares and Hades, the betrayal of Zeus, and the kidnapped gods.

"They will destroy everything in their attempt to gain control of India, Persia, and the lands even further than that." Anthria pointed out neutrally, her voice a deep, dispassionate drawl.

"We will stop them," the Prince concluded, looking into Farah's eyes and then at Anthria. The grip he held on his sword hilt tightened. "We have to stop them."

Anthria crossed her arms over her chest and snorted at his idea. "Impossible," she scoffed, pulling her chin up. "We are mortals, bound by mortal laws. We cannot even _harm_ gods(1)."

"Then why did you—" the Prince began.

"But," Anthria countered swiftly, leaning on her knee. "That does not mean we cannot find someone who _can_ kill them, or hurt them at least."

"We have to go to Athens," Farah put in, looking away from Anthria to the Prince, who met her eyes boldly. "That's where we can get this weapon that will awaken Zeus from his imprisonment."

"It's in Athens?"

"Yes." Anthria's face was guarded as she rose to her feet. Slowly, she turned her head and looked into the dark woods. "We must go to the Athenian Temple where they worship Athena, goddess of wisdom. She will give us the weapon we need."

"You know where this is?" the Prince asked, also standing.

"Yes." Again, Anthria's face remained dark and unreadable. "I know where this temple is. I know where it is very well."

Without really thinking about it, Farah and the Prince shared a look. While it seemed to amuse the Prince, that share looked, it frightened her lightly. Just why, she wondered, did it seem so familiar? That look—half-teasing, half-mocking, half-knowing—seemed so natural between them?

"Then we should leave," the Prince pointed out and moved to brush passed the woman. Anthria's hand grabbed his shoulder and she pushed his back, shaking her head.

"For now, we camp here. You wounds will need time to rest." Anthria turned away, the decision already made. "There will be little sleep on the next few nights. I suggest gaining what you can tonight."

Shivering, Farah turned away from them both. Everything just felt so weird. Anthria's coldness—though that, she reasoned, should be no surprise—and the feeling that she knew this prince of Persia from somewhere… somewhere…

--&--

_They found the hidden path to Athens_ _easily enough. Anthria located it as they hunted their Messesians prey._

"_Good work," the captain, Trypiculus, says to her. The men jeer at her, but it is not a cruel jeer as it had been when she had first joined their ranks. It is friendly now, almost admirable._

"_That's our Anthria," one man says in pure admiration. He pats her rump. Anthria knows she could snap him like a twig, but she does not. He is a joker, this man—aptly, he is named Herminus, after the trickster god himself—and she has grown accustomed to his touches._

_But tonight, she is almost embarrassed by Herminus's friendly banter. Her eyes drift toward the woman behind her fellow soldiers. A woman that is older than herself—not by years, but by experience—and she wonders what goes through this woman's mind. They found her on the road miles back, bleeding and broken, sobbing incoherently and damning the Messesians in the same breath._

_Her farm, the woman said, is between Athens_ _and the Spartan camp. Since they are going to Athens_ _to hunt their enemies, Trypiculus agreed to drop her off._

_They travel forward slowly, alert for an ambush. As they come closer to Athens, the woman pushes herself to the frontlines, her face young and eager to be home. She is pretty, Anthria realizes and looks down at her hands. After so much blood and fighting, is her face pretty anymore?  
__  
Then she thinks, _does it matter?

_When they come to the farm, Anthria wishes they hadn't agreed to take the woman there._

_For the farm had been destroyed, the crops have been burned to the ground, and animal bodies lay slaughtered along the dust-covered fields. Smoke clogs the air and a fire still burns in the distance. There is nothing left of the farm._

_The woman walks forward, her face a neutral mask Anthria recognizes it. When they brought her husband's body home for the pyre, she had worn the same face._

_Slowly, the woman sinks to the earth, her thick tunic and shift dirtying against the burned, ashy dust. Then she weeps, hollow bitter tears that stain the earth. And nothing will grow there, Anthria knows, not anymore._

_Herminus steps forward then, an unreadable expression in his eyes. He bends down toward her, taking her shoulders and turning her to face him. She weeps, but silently. Bitter tears cloud and mist over her eyes. Then, like a shadow, her face changes. Dull and weak, she stares at Herminus._

"_This was the one thing my husband gave to me that I loved him for," she whispers, her fingers curling over the dust, useless dust. "When he died… I was glad, for this land was mine then, and now… now it is nothing… now there is nothing here but dead earth…"_

_They camp at the decayed farm for the night. The next day, Herminus decides to stay with the woman and promises his captain and his friends that they will one day reunite again. And he will have a family then._

_It is the last time Anthria ever sees him._

_As their army turns once more to the city of Athens, Anthria thinks to herself, _no matter what happens, please gods do not make me look like that woman… hollow, dull, destroyed… please…

--&--

Anthria jostled herself from the memories of the dream. Groaning, she rolled onto her side. Her fingers slipped into something cool and refreshing.

Her eyes fluttered open and she found herself staring into her reflection. There was a look upon her face, one that she had seen many times, that was all too familiar now. She had contorted her face into it before and now it somehow hurt to see it marring her face.

She stood, trying not to shake. Whatever emotions she had, she locked away and buried. There was no time for sadness or joy. All that mattered was the vengeance that awaited her.

Narrowing her eyes at her weak reflection within the watery depths, she turned away from it. It was dark now in the forest, even darker than it normally was. Night had fallen upon the island and the moon was quieter than usually.

But her eyes were honed into the darkness. She made out their forms. Farah and the Prince. Farah slept, curled like a cat, on one of the stone steps, and her breathing was even and deep.

The Prince was not asleep. He was mere feet away from Farah and had his sword unsheathed. Their eyes met from across the expanse of the forest and Anthria turned away. He was young… so young. And he reminded her of—

Quickly, she abandoned the temple and moved into the woods. Her feet took her to the edge of the forest and, sensing no tengu, she stepped out onto the sandy beach.

The bodies of Leander and Ctrynous were no where to be seen, but Anthria had expected that. Tengu were not creatures who would have left such fresh and juicy meat to decay on the ground. But still she gave them a moment's thought and allowed herself to feel a small bitterness over their lack of funeral rites.

Then she let their loss fade, like she had done so many times before. She approached the shore and walked the ocean line until she came to the rocky edge of the island. Water poured into small alcoves near the sea and Anthria approached one.

A small silver light shone near the edge of the small water alcove and Anthria sensed the god before she saw her. With a neutral face, she approached the woman.

She was tall and willowy, with fine, long honey hair that flowed in a ripple down her back. She was clothed in a dress of fine, warm liquid gold that seemed the cling to her body as if it were a mere dusting.

And the woman was singing. Her voice was eerie and sad as she cupped a fine, pristine seashell between her tanned palms.

_"Cover my face. Bring me a veil of smoke _

_from fires blossoming among the stones _

_and hide my eyes. They cut King Priam's throat _

_and every _ _Trojan street__ was slick with blood. _

_The blackened corpses on the shaken earth _

_lie twisted, broken, torn. Lifeless as dolls. _

_And smoke as thick as nightmares rises up _

_and strains the sky above the Trojan walls, _

_The birds of prey gather on every gate. _

_The Offering has fallen on its side. _

_Its belly gapes, hollow and empty now. _

_The Trojan women wail and wring their hands _

_and look toward what used to be their home _

_and know that they will sail, and not return. _

_The silver tears drop from my silver eyes. _

_Cover my face. I cannot look on this."(2)_

"Lady Psyche(3)," Anthria greeted, her voice monotonous and her heart untouched by the goddess's song.

Psyche turned, her moon-fine silver eyes drifting over to the woman beside her. She dropped her conch shell into the surf and approached her. "I knew you would come. I understand you, Anthria."

"No one understands me anymore, my lady," Anthria said calmly but with absolute certainty. Psyche sighed and turned away. "May I ask why you have descended onto the realm where you were once born?"

A small smile tugged at the red corners of Psyche's ambrosia-kissed lips. "Eros wished to see this Farah and her Prince," she answered with a shrug. "He was interested in their doomed affair when it first reached our ears a few years ago. But, as you know, we have no say in the matters to the East."

"Hades and Ares look to correct that," Anthria pointed out and was rewarded with a frown from the silver woman. Psyche was truly the most beautiful woman to ever walk the earth and perhaps even—with no offense to Aphrodite—on Mount Olympus. She was the perfect match to her lord-husband, Eros.

With a sigh, she cast her beautiful face toward the moon. "Look at the moon, Anthria. Does it seem dim to you?"

"Yes," Anthria agreed as her eyes drifted to the silver diamond that hung in the sky. "I have gotten used to it, however."

"Selene is in mourning," Psyche explained softly, sadly. "Artemis has disappeared, and with her is her brother Apollo. Helios(4) has managed to keep a firm hold on himself, however. Most the gods are in hiding now, worried that Ares and Hades might turn their power onto them. Even Mother has taken Pleasure into hiding for me."

There was no need for Anthria to guess who Psyche's mother was. Though they had started out on bad terms, Aphrodite had learned to forgive her daughter-in-law and was said to dote on her young grandchild, Pleasure.

"I would think that Aphrodite would be pleased with Ares' rise to power." Anthria raised an eyebrow at the young goddess as she kept her face turned to the moon. "Does she not sport in his bed?"

"It was only to make Hephaestus(5) jealous. He can easily forget his wife when work had his attention," Psyche explained and looked down at her with another wise smile. "It is strange. Aphrodite knows the way of passion more than anyone else and yet, she knows little how to keep her husband's attention. Though I cannot damn her for her tryst with Ares… that is what gave me Eros."

Without saying another word, Anthria stripped herself of her chiton. She had intended to bath when she had come to the beach and being around a god did not make her feel uncomfortable. Naked, she stepped into the alcove filled with water.

Psyche, unabashed by Anthria's boldness, bent down beside her. Her silver, glowing finger tips traced the outline of the scar that marred Anthria's chest, up to her neck. They were jagged and gray and deep, like teeth marks.

"I always wondered why you chose to keep these upon yourself," Psyche mumbled as drew away as Anthria's scars began to glow bright silver. "I know Hades could remove them. Did he refuse?"

"No," Anthria answered simply. "I did. I do not wish to forget."

"Psyche, come," a new voice called and Anthria did not bother to look at it. It was powerful, but soothing. Like fine, rich chocolate. Mortals would die with glee if they had the ability to hear it.

Eros(6) appeared, tall—much taller than his statuesque wife, if such a thing was possible—and dark and handsome, carrying the rugged and devilish features of his father and the lanky build of his mother.

He did not even glance at Anthria's nakedness—which, as Hades had told her, was nothing short of alluring—as he gathered his wife into his arms. He blessed a hungry kiss upon her lips. "Hades and Ares grow impatient with the gods that hold out against them," he explained to her. "I can feel them. We will collect Pleasure and Mother and go into hiding."

"All our hopes lie with you, Anthria," Psyche said simply before she and Eros dissolved into the night air. There was no gush of wind, as with the other gods, simply a warm, liquid feel in their place.

With a small, suffering sigh Anthria slipped deeper into the water. In the pale light of Selene, her scars glowered pale gray. Her fingers traced them, the tiny marks marring her body from her waist to her collarbone. They stilled as they reached the ones that sliced across her chest. Her eyes slid closed and Anthria fought the surge of memories.

Achingly slow, she lowered her head onto one of the smooth stones behind her. Her fingers abandoned their tracing to rest limply at her side. She stared at the moon, lost in its quiet beauty.

How long had it been since she had relaxed like this? When Anthria had been in service to Lord Hades there had been little time for these things, resting and relaxing. And, she admitted, she hadn't wished to relax.

Now she felt old, ancient. Though her body showed no sign of the years, Anthria could feel the burden of time weigh down on her shoulders. Her eyes slid closed and she inhaled deeply. She yearned for the release of death, true, but she knew that while her foe remained living and walking, there would be no rest for her.

_I will find you,_ she swore silently, whispering the chant she had told herself over and over again. _I will find you… I will kill you… I will find you… I will kill you… I will find you… I will kill you…_

Then she submerged.

--&--

When Anthria left, the Prince watched as Farah sat up, twisting her torso so she could look at him. Even in the dark, the Prince could make out her eyes glowing like black onyx in her face.

"You weren't asleep?" he asked her and Farah shook her head, standing. She walked over to him, but not close enough for him to clearly make her out in the dark.

"No," she answered and he heard the rustle of her clothes as she took her seat beside him. "I couldn't… not with all that's going on." There was a frown in her voice. The Prince heard it and raised an eyebrow. "It's not like Anthria to wander off…"

"You seem to have changed your opinion about her," the Prince drawled, trying not to sound too jealous about it because, honestly, why on earth was he so jealous?

"I'm indifferent to her, really… she's not evil, like I thought, but she's not good either." Farah edged closer to him and the Prince could feel her subtle, exotic scent wafting into his nose. "For now, we need her."

It was so surreal being this close to her again, after two years of telling himself that he would never see her again and that it was for the best. The Prince wasn't sure how to handle it, wasn't sure how he wanted to handle it.

On one hand, his body was singing at being this close to her again. It was almost demanding that he take her into his arms and just hold her until all the memories came flooding back into her consciousness. On the other, his logical side was telling him to run and leave her before it ended in heartbreak again or worse… she ended up dead.

Instead of doing any of it, he pointed out, "You risked a lot to save me. Going with an enemy and coming all the way here. Why?"

Farah scooted closer again and he felt her smile even though he couldn't see it. "Well… I asked you the same thing, remember? I was returning the favor." There was a teasing lit to her voice and she lifted an arm before hastily dropping it away.

"Returning the…" He shook his head and trailed off, refusing to be hurt by her words. She didn't even know what she was saying. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Farah said honestly and felt the awkward silence stretch between them. She lowered her fingers into her lap and twisted them. What to say? What _could_ she say? What seemed right?

In truth, nothing seemed right to her. Not when she was around him. Everything was thick and fuzzy, like she was watching the scene in slow motion. And everything was so familiar. Like a distant, long-forgotten dream she could almost remember the slow smile that curved his lips or the lit of his eyes or the way his eyebrows lifted in annoyance and confusion…

She shook her head. Why did it seem so familiar? She couldn't seem to wrap her mind around a reason, no matter what she thought. Whenever she might have been close, her mind slammed down on the locks and all she could see was black. A part of her didn't _want_ to remember.

But still… something nagged after her. "That story you told me… two years ago, you remember?" She waited a beat. The Prince didn't protest. "Was… was it true? After all that's happened, I have to ask. Was any of it true?"

There was a long stretch of silence between them. Even in the dark Farah could feel the Prince's steady, hot eyes on her. She wanted to shudder and pull away. She didn't. Instead, she lifted her chin and dared him.

"It…" The Prince stopped and looked away, far away from her. He couldn't look at her. Couldn't look at her because then he would remember. "It _might_ be true. Some parts of it." He wasn't sure what she wanted to hear from him. He wasn't sure how far he was willing to go.

Suddenly, she stood and crossed her arms over her chest. "I thought maybe it was…" She moved closer again and the Prince almost shuddered when her fingers caught the fabric of his shirt. "What parts?"

They were close enough now that he could look into her eyes and see them. She was kneeling slightly above him, and he could feel her breath fanning his lips. His fingers itched to take her neck in his hands and lower her face to his.

But he remembered what it had felt like the first time he had attempted to take another taste of her. The harsh push had pained him more than anything else ever had. And his heart was not willing for another rejection.

"Farah—" he began but they both jumped apart at the sound of approaching footsteps. Like guilty children, they looked up at Anthria as she approached them.

If she made any assumptions as she took in the scene, she did not voice them. Instead, she walked towards the place she had slept at. She lowered herself back to the ground and looked at them over her shoulder. "Get to sleep. We leave at dawn."

Her eyes were drawn back to the Prince's. Flushing, she turned away. She ascended the steps of the dais and she lowered herself to the ground. Without glancing at the Prince, she closed her eyes and willed herself asleep.

The Prince stayed awake, one hand on his sword and his eyes trained on Farah's sleeping form.

* * *

**story notes:** (1) gods are, in fact, immortal. "Immortal" means impervious to harm. Basically, there is no living person who can harm the gods without aid from the gods. There have been numerous stories and movies where the Grecian gods had been killed by human beings, but mythological they were completely untouchable unless Zeus decreed otherwise. Or full-fledged gods, anyway.

(2) the song is in fact taken from the novel _Troy_, by Adéle Geras. This is probably one of the best books depicting the epic Trojan War. It actually spans the _whole_ ten years it took for Troy to fall (unlike that _other_ movie) and is beautifully written. Anyone interested in the Trojan War should pick this book up. It has a sequel, _Ithaka_, which is about Penelope during the years while she waits for Odysseus to return.

(3) Psyche is a unique god, as she is one of the few gods created solely for the Roman pantheon. She was first written about by Apuleius in a series of poems and she is one of the few characters in Grecian and Roman myths who has a happy ending. After undergoing a series of tests by Venus (Aphrodite) Psyche is reunited with her true love, Eros (Cupid), and becomes a goddess. Her title is the goddess of the soul, _psyche_ a Greek word for 'mind' in the idea of 'soul'.

(4) Artemis, Selene, Apollo, and Helios are the must confused gods in just about every mythology. This mostly because their respective duties after very alike. Artemis is the moon goddess, Selene drives the moon across the sky. Apollo is the sun god, and Helios drives the chariot of the sun. See? However, they all separate entities. Artemis is does not control the moon, Selene does, just as Apollo does not control the sun, Helios does.

(5) Hephaestus is Aphrodite's husband. It is a common belief that Aphrodite continued to have an affair with Ares after her marriage. However, for the sake of not creating another villain, I decided to make Aphrodite side with the gods. Also, some scholars believe that Eros was the son of Aphrodite and Ares if you're following the myth that Eros is Aphrodite's son.

(6) Eros is the Greek name for Cupid. As you can see, all the names are in Greek because this story is set long before Roman times, where the myth of Psyche originated. However, Psyche was too awesome a character to pass up so I brought her into the past. In all actuality, Psyche really married Cupid. It was Cupid who was the full grown man, Eros was a mere cherub. To simplify the matter I merely changed Cupid's name to his Greek counterpart and brought Psyche into the past.

**reviews**

**Specter Von Baren:** I love mythology because it's the earliest form of writing and storytelling, it's fascinating. Keep reminding me to send them to you so I don't forget. Or I _will_ forget. I promise you that.

**Sakura123:** ah, mythological creatures. I love throwing them in. I think the Prince of Persia series would have been awesome if they had some Persian or Indian mythology added in. But, eh, what are you gonna do?

**bluetinkerbell:** strong women please me. It's a pity that there aren't so many in video games. Well, I consider Farah a strong female character, even she has damsel-in-distress tendencies. Still, considering her cultural and time period (even in today's society), she's a pretty strong female! So go her!

**Black Emerald Dawn:** oh, there's another sign that I need to cut back on the Grey's Anatomy. I've been walking around calling the prince _McSexy_

**OliveraT:** I must admit, the story is what generally attracts me to game, which is why I love Legend of Zelda as well (which is funny because you'd think a game with a main character who never speaks actual words wouldn't be good) and that's what got me started with the _Prince of Persia_. The lush storyline—in _SoT_ anyway—kept me enthralled! I intend to get things hot and heavy with Farah and the Prince—_eventually_—but I'm not sure how far I'm going to take it. As for the Prince's name… well, they never ever reveal it, not even in the later games. Currently, I'm debating if I should give him a name or not.

**Next Chapter Preview**

_"She told me a bit of it," Farah admitted and bit her lip in worry. She sent the Prince a sidelong glance. "It's sad. What happened to Anthria." _

_Unable to quell his curiosity he stood and moved over to the hammock. When Farah didn't voice complainants he sat down on the swinging bed as well. "Are you going to tell me?" he asked, looking deep into her dark irises. _

_It felt… odd looking in his eyes. It always did. Her mind grappled with a distant memory, a far away one. It was more dreamlike than a memory, she supposed. It was hazy and garbled with an invisible barrier. But she heard voices. _

"You're eyes… they're green."_ Her voice? But she didn't remember ever saying it. And green eyes. She must have said it to him, but she had only met the Prince for seconds before this meeting. _

"Are they?"_ And now, she was sure that the Prince's voice. Regal and powerful. _"Sorry, was I staring?"_… _

_…Sending them a cool look, she walked passed their seats and took one on the floor. For a long moment, she considered them both. Farah, elegant, regal princess of far off India and the Prince, proud and strong and an heir to the throne of _ _Persia_

_Then slowly she told Farah, "I did not finish my story the last time we stop of it. There is still a bit left to tell." The Prince and Farah shared a look as Anthria braced herself for the onslaught memories that were sure to follow. _

_"Tell us," Farah urged as she brought her knees to her chest. Her face held a hint of eagerness that was unmatched on the Prince's face. The Prince, for his part, looked like he just wanted the information to form his opinion of her. _

_"During the Messesian War, one of my members I found to be selling information to the opposite side," she explained, looking down at her hand. A frown flirted across her face, remembering it. "His name was Capetraion and he had been willing to sell _ _Sparta__ for the right price."_


	13. The Killer in Me

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**Spoilers:** I'm really not bothering anymore

**Author's Notes:** gah. There's no excuse. None really. Just school, you know? Big year this year, big stuff happening. Hopefully, things will go smoother once Christmas is over. XD

* * *

_/Chapter Twelve: The Killer in Me/_

"**But when she glanced to the far-off town  
****White from its hill-slope looking down  
****The sweet song died, and a vague unrest  
****And a nameless longing filled her breast—  
****A wish, that she hardly dared to own,  
****For something better than she had known"  
**-"Maud Muller", John Greenleaf Whittier

* * *

The sun was a scornful, angry thing as Anthria, the Prince, and Farah made their way across the burning beach towards their boat. Farah didn't dare ask about Ctrynous and his son Leander. A part of her didn't want to know what Anthria had done with the bodies.

Farah and the Prince shouldered their burden and helped Anthria push the boat out into the swallow water. Anthria barked commands at the Prince. To Farah it seemed like the woman had a new anxiousness about her.

It was odd. Through the whole time Farah had known the golden-haired Spartan, Anthria had been cold and, sometimes, sad.

"Athens is about a few days' journey from here," Anthria explained as she motioned for the Prince to hoist the sails. A wind caught the thick, white fabric and their rigid boat set out for water. "If Poseidon sees fit, we should arrive in less than five days."

"Poseidon, the god of water, correct?" Farah questioned and Anthria gave her a nod. "What reason would he have for trying to stop us?"

"What reason does any god need?" Anthria questioned through gritted teeth. "They do as they please, playing with mortal lives as they see fit."

With nothing more to say, Farah fell silent and went to help the Prince with the sails. She cast curious glances at Anthria every so often, but the woman remained stoic and silent. Even the Prince sensed the tension and he looked at Farah in puzzlement.

When the sun began to dip down on the first day of their journey to Athens the Prince and Farah roomed in the tiny space below the ship. The waves were rougher than Farah's first trip on the boat and she felt sickness roll in her stomach as well as worry.

The Prince was faring better than Farah, but only slightly. His face, too, held a small green tinge. "Is there something wrong with Anthria?" he asked as he took a space on the wooden floor, allowing Farah the hammock.

Absently, Farah played with the strings of the hammock, curling her legs under her. "She was like this once, while you were sick. She got quiet and seemed angry for no reason. But there is a reason. A terrible one, I think."

"What reason?"

"She told me a bit of it," Farah admitted and bit her lip in worry. She sent the Prince a sidelong glance. "It's sad. What happened to Anthria."

Unable to quell his curiosity he stood and moved over to the hammock. When Farah didn't voice complainants he sat down on the swinging bed as well. "Are you going to tell me?" he asked, looking deep into her dark irises.

It felt… odd looking in his eyes. It always did. Her mind grappled with a distant memory, a far away one. It was more dreamlike than a memory. It was hazy and garbled with an invisible barrier. But she heard voices.

"_You're eyes… they're green."_ Her voice? But she didn't remember ever saying it. And _green eyes_. She must have said it to him, but she had only met the Prince seconds before this meeting.

"_Are they?"_ And now, she was sure that the Prince's voice. Regal and powerful. "_Sorry, was I staring?"_

Now that she thought about the Prince's voice, it sounded like the voice that had been in her dreams for the past two years. Farah had never given the voice much thought before. She had tried to bury the dream, as the months had worn on. It had been too painful—oddly enough—to think about it.

But now she was sure, she was _positive_, that she had heard the Prince's voice before. And she was sure it the voice she had given the mysterious person in her dreams. But why did she have the Prince in her previous imaginings?

"Farah?" the Prince asked, watching as her eyes went deep in thought. Something was burning inside him. A hope, brilliant and powerful. She was remembering, wasn't she? That look in her eyes. It was as if she was being drowned in the memories. He wanted to hold her in his arms and submerge her…

He wanted her to remember. Everything. Him. Azad. Them. _Everything_.

Without thinking, he cupped her face, forcing her eyes to meet his. Farah expelled a breath, staring deep into his irises. She thought she was being washed over in chilled water and her body trembled. Something painful and aching pushed itself into her heart. Her lips opened to form words as—

Then her mind shut down. Painful. _Snap_.

Gasping at the pain, Farah shook her head free of the Prince's grip and looked away. The Prince looked at her in disappointment and Farah felt it reflecting in her own heart. But her mind hadn't wanted to delve that deep into itself. Whatever was in there, it said, should stay buried.

Silence stretched between them. The Prince looked away from Farah, as if staring at her physically hurt him. Farah felt shame color her cheeks, as if she had failed him somehow. Her throat ached to say something, _anything_ that would make it better. But she didn't know what to say. What could she say?

"Anthria's from Sparta," Farah found herself saying, feeling sluggish and oddly lonely. "She was married to a young man when she was very young…"

For a good hour, Farah told the Prince what she knew of Anthria. Of her previous life as a wife in Sparta, of her husband, of her son and her father and her mother. Of the death of her husband and going into the Spartan army.

"There is something wrong with her," the Prince agreed with Farah when she explained how long ago the Messesian War was. "How can she have lived that long and yet not have aged(1)?"

"And why did she begin to work for Hades?" Farah put in. "After all, she had a family to return to, didn't she? Why didn't she go back to them?"

"We can't trust her," the Prince added and caught Farah's hand automatically. "No matter how well she helps us, she cannot be trusted."

"I know." Farah looked away, tugging her hand free. Then she added softly, "But most of the time… I think Anthria seems so… _sad_. Her eyes are cold, but the way she moves. She seems old, even though she can't possibly be."

--&--

Anthria knew that the Prince and Farah were doubting her once more. And personally, she didn't give a damn. She didn't care what they thought of her, so long as they didn't get in her way. She would protect them for the time being—and no doubt she would need allies in the future battle—but she would not allow them to stand in her way.

_We are going to Athens_… _I am returning to Athens_…

It had been so long since she had seen Athens's sprawling road systems and high-pillared temples. She had been there only once and when she had seen Athens… it had been on fire. Flames eating its marble flesh… the screams… the blood… the _death_.

She shuddered and pressed a hand to her face. No. She would not think of it. It was in the past. What she had already done. And it didn't matter. All that mattered was freeing Zeus and freeing herself from Hades so she could chase down the man who had caused her so much pain…

Her fingers tightened over the steering wheel as Anthria's eyes went dead calm. Thinking about him made her dangerously close to snapping. When she thought of his face—laughing and mocking—she _had_ to kill something. Anything. Something she could put his face on.

Disgusted with herself, she turned away from the helm. Poseidon was eerily quiet this night, as were the currents. Anthria knew that it was because the lord of the seas had other things pressing on his mind. She doubted the boat was in any danger of being directed off course so she left it.

As she approached the door to the small cabin beneath the ship, Anthria caught the whispers of Farah and the Prince. Quietly, she pushed open the door. Emotionlessly, she approached them both.

She caught the Prince's voice on the air. As she thought of him, she frowned. He protected Farah as a man protected his mate. It was odd to her, since she sensed from Farah that the girl didn't know him. But the Prince acted as if he knew her better than he knew himself.

And the boy's eyes… they reminded Anthria sometimes of herself. The look of being completely alone with a terrible burden. Though Anthria had learned long ago to bury that emotion, but she knew how to recognize it. And she recognized it well within the boy.

The Prince of Persia had a strange connection with Farah, Anthria thought. And the gods seemed to know him, or least have heard of him. And Farah carried that strange Dagger with her as well as the medallion of Cronos, the god of time.

Somehow, both things were connected as were the Prince's actions. There was something there, Anthria could almost _sense_ it. Something tickled the back of her memory but she pushed it out of the way.

Instead, she walked boldly over to the Prince and Farah. They both sat on the hammock, leaned in slightly toward each other. It was an intimate picture and Anthria thought it was too intimate for the time they had known each other.

The Prince seemed to be eating up every look that passed across Farah's face while the young woman seemed to be struggling within herself as to whether she liked the situation or whether she should back away from it.

When they both took note of Anthria they broke away slightly. Farah looked embarrassed with herself and the Prince eyed her like a wary predator. Anthria blamed neither of them for their actions.

If it had been in her she would have felt guilty at breaking up such a tender, intimate moment between the two.

But she didn't. She couldn't.

Sending them a cool look, she walked passed their seats and took one on the floor. For a long moment, she considered them both. Farah, elegant, regal princess of far off India and the Prince, proud and strong and heir to the throne of Persia.

Then slowly she told Farah, "I did not finish my story the last time we talked of it. There is still a bit too tell." The Prince and Farah shared a look as Anthria braced herself for the onslaught memories that were sure to follow.

"Tell us," Farah urged as she brought her knees to her chest. Her face held a hint of eagerness that was unmatched on the Prince's face. The Prince, for his part, looked like he just wanted the information to form his opinion of her.

"During the Messesian War, one of my members I found to be selling information to the opposite side," she explained, looking down at her hand. A frown flirted across her face, remembering it. "His name was Capetraion and he had been willing to sell Sparta for the right price."

"Horrible," the Prince snarled. "Traitors ought to be hanged."

Though she did not say it, Anthria's opinion of the Persian rose considerably. "I suspected his traitorous ways and followed him one night to one of his midnight rendezvous. I found him making a deal with a Messenian general. He had promised to hand to the general the royal family, in return he would receive a large chunk of Spartan land. I told my captain, Trypiculus, and he banished Capetraion from Sparta."

"Banishment?" the Prince demanded incredulously, almost standing. "That's _it_? He would have handed your monarchs to your enemies on a silver platter and he was simply _banished_."

With a shrug, Anthria admitted, "It was not my decision to make. Capetraion had been a friend to many of the men in my troupe, Captain Trypiculus included. Banishment was the only thing they could stomach. My Captain explained to Capetraion that he would be alerting the royal family of his betrayal and if he dared to return to Sparta it would be his head."

In the back of her mind, Anthria remembered what it had been like to look into Capetraion's glittering dark eyes, filled with hatred for each and every one of them. She had shuddered and looked away, pleased to be rid of him before he had done real damage to Sparta.

"I watched him walk away and we returned to the capital city. I was hailed a hero for unmasking the traitor in our midst and I returned home decorated and titled. But, in truth, all I truly wanted to do was to go home."

"Home to your son, to your mother and father," Farah surmised.

"Yes. All I wanted was peace, after what I had seen and done, and only the tiny arms of my son could give me that." She closed her eyes briefly as pain washed over her body. "But… peace was destined to never be mine. I returned home… to ruins…"

_(2)Anthria's feet slap against the dirt-covered ground as she makes her way to her home. Dirty, grimy, and tired she smiles. Soon she will be home, with her tiny son. Soon she and Arion will dance as her father and mother watch on in joy._

_But something is amiss…_

_The home Anthria returns to is quiet, too quiet. Smoke rises from her house and death hangs over her home._

_She remembers what the farm had looked like months ago, that woman's farm. The ashes and the destruction and the death._

"_No," she breathes and rushes forward, dropping her armor and her swords. Her leather sandals slap against the smooth wood as she rushes to her home. Her feet slid against something wet and she crashed to the floor._

_Gasping, she drags her hand up. Blood covers it, dripping down her palm and her arm, seeping between her fingers. Someone is screaming in the distance and it is Anthria. She pushes herself to her feet and follows the trail of blood on her brown stone floor._

_The blood leads her to the kitchen and Anthria battles tears at what she sees. Everything is overturned and fires die in the corner. Anthria enters the kitchen and screams as she sees her mother._

_The old woman is pushed onto her stomach on the only standing furniture in the room, the table. Her chiton is thrown on her back, exposing her lower body. Her legs are covered in slick, drying blood and her fingers clutch helplessly at the sides of the table._

"_Mother!?" Anthria screams as she reaches the woman who gave birth to her. She turns over the frail body and howls at what she sees._

_Her mother with her throat slashed and her chiton ripped from neckline to waist. Her eyes opened in horror and her lips parted in a plea. She is dead and there is nothing Anthria can do for her._

_In a trance, Anthria walks through the house, closing her eyes at the destruction and useless violence. Her body trembles with rage and grief. Tears fall across her cheeks when she finds her father._

_The old tired man, still tucked in his bed, eyes closed. His fingers grip the handle of the knife that had been plunged deep into his chest. Those horrible men had held her father down as they had plunged the knife into his heart._

"_Daddy…" she whispers and drops to knees before him, pulling out the dagger with trembling fingers. She grips his hand, bowing her head and praying to the gods. Then her head shoots up and a gasp strangles in her throat. "Arion!"_

_Then she is running again, ignoring everything except the rapid pounding of her heart and the panic welling up in her soul. "Arion!" she screams over and over again, her heart growing heavier with each scream going unanswered._

_She races out into the back, ignoring the decaying and burning fields, the smoldering trees. As the sun burns like a fireball above her, she scans for her son._

"_Oh… Zeus… no…" she whispers as she spots him._

_There he is, her tiny baby son, sprawled on the dirt. His tiny body is twisted at an odd angle, as if he had been running when the enemies had fallen open him. His dark head of hair is the only thing not smeared in red. Everything else is. His tunic, his legs, his arms. His face is pressed into the dirt and his tiny body is so still._

_Like before, Anthria finds herself dropping to her knees. Tears fall from her eyes in a never-ending flood. An animalistic howl catches in her throat as she turns her baby boy over._

_His face, his innocent, carefree face, is battered and bruised. Blood cakes at his eyes and his mouth and a large pool of blood staunches his dark tunic. Anthria screams as she picks him up and holds him against her breast, rocking him like she had when he had been small._

_He is lifeless against her chest._

"_No. No. Oh, baby, no…" she croaks weakly as she continues to rock her dead son. She feels his broken ribs and arm pressing against her body and her mind imagines what had been done to her innocent, bright boy before they had killed him._

_Again and again, she thinks it isn't fair. She can remember her son playing in the backyard, brandishing a wooden sword, pretending to be Hercules or Peruses or Menelaus._

_But now he is dead, dead and cold in her arms._

_Something catches her eyes. Anthria shifts her son lightly to the left, careful never to let him go, and picks up his arm._

_Written in bold, bloody letters on her son's arm is the name Capetraion._

_Rage boils her blood and the scream she emanates deep from within the bowls of her stomach is born of raw anger and hate._

"_He'll pay, he'll pay," Anthria promises her son as she holds his battered, bloody face to hers. She presses a wet kiss to his forehead, tasting the copper of his blood. Bile rises in her throat but she banks it. "I promise, my darling, he'll pay."_

_On trembling legs, she stands with her son. She carries his body into the house and to the front of her land. Tenderly, she rests the still, lifeless body of the child she gave birth to on the ground. Then she collects her father and mother's bodies and rests them beside her son._

_Her family lies in a neat row, one beside the other. Their hands are folded and their faces are peaceful. Anthria presses coins into their eyes and builds them their funeral pyres. She sheds the last of her bitter tears over their ashes and scatters them._

"_I promise I will bath myself in Capetraion's blood," she whispers to the spirits of her family. "And that what he did to you, he will receive ten fold." She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, her chest aching but unable to summon up tears. "Arion… wait for me, my baby. Your mother will not be long in coming."_

_  
But she had been lying… she would live for so long, never dying. She would always ache deep in her chest, she would never cry._

_Anthria rummages through her home, picking out what money is still there. She pauses as passes the mirror hanging in her mother's room. She stares at the hollow, haggard woman in front of her._

_She looks defeated, destroyed, and ruined. Anthria remembers seeing the same look on the woman who Herminus decided to stay with. She remembers that once she had prayed to the gods to never allow that to happen to her. For her to be so utterly hopeless and destroyed._

_Now, she does not care. She shatters the mirror and torches the remains of her home, standing before the fire as it consumes her home as it had her family only minutes before._

_Then she turns and walks away._

"H—he did that?" Farah managed after a long pause. Anthria's face was pained, but still caught of and cold. But there was such a mixture of emotions in her eyes, the rage and the grief and the distraught. Farah could see the woman Anthria had been. "He killed your mother and your father? _Your son_!?"

The Prince's face was a mask of rage, but he said nothing. His hand was fisted on his pants and he looked eager to pummel everything.

"I swore revenge," Anthria admitted and for a moment her voice was vulnerable and womanly. For a moment, she was the woman who had lost her husband, and then her family in a brutal, and unjust way. Then she was the cold, detached warrior once more. "I could no longer stand to look on Sparta and, after I had buried my dead, I left the city state forever. I went looking for Capetraion. I never found him. A Messesian man told me he had been killed. They were lying, I know that now. I _feel_ his breathing and it pains me as nothing else will. And I will stop at nothing until I find and end him. But, then, I was so lost and confused I believed them. I believed those liars and lost my first chance for revenge."

For a brief moment, she closed her eyes. Then she opened them and looked directly at the Prince and Farah. There was no remorse in them now. "I was enraged. Almost in a trance, I traveled through Messesia. I slaughtered anyone I came upon, men, women, children. Nothing mattered now that all had been taken from me. I bathed myself in the blood of the innocent and the corrupt and I never once regretted it.

"Then… I came upon a temple. The goddess Hera stared down at me from her statue on the steps and I realized no amount of blood would bring my family back. No matter how many children I killed, my son will still be dead. So I left Messesia as well, broken and bitter and just so tired."

"What did you do?" the Prince wanted to know.

"I saw no point in continuing to live," Anthria replied evenly. With a steely look, she met the Prince's eyes. "There were hydras(3) attacking the coastline of Athens. To attempt to destroy the beasts was suicide. It was just the mission I was looking for." The Prince's face shifted to surprise, and then to pity, while Farah's face grew more and more frightened. "I took it without a moment's hesitation. I fell upon the hydras."

"Hydras?" Farah breathed, her eyes widen in amazement. "They're _real_?"

"They _were_ real," Anthria answered. "I fought them, taking them all down in a frenzy. I battled for hours, covered in blood and guts and salt water. I grew tired and willed the blackness. Finally, I came upon the last hydra, the biggest. Its teeth found their marks across my body and, as I died between its teeth, I brought my sword upon its jugular and slew the beast. I remained trapped in its jaw and I felt the cool kiss of death upon my face. I willed it so… and I… _died_…"

"Died!?" the Prince shot up in disbelief as a gasping sound caught in Farah's throat. "But you're alive, now. You couldn't have died."

"Lord Hades, god of the underworld, saw usefulness in me," Anthria said as she motioned for the Prince to reclaim his seat. "He rose me from the dead and commanded me to do his bidding. As my life was in his hands, I had no choice. I did as he ordered. He sent me to city after city, had me kill so many… I did it and felt nothing. I waited for the day Hades would release me from enslavement, but the day never came. I was to service him, always, never aging and never dying. I was to never rest again. And there was nothing I could do but follow Hades. For years and years, I fought his battles. I fought in his name. I killed for him. And then, we came to Athens and I—"

"What is it?" Farah questioned softly, watching Anthria's face shut down completely. Whatever openness she had when she had been telling her story was gone and she stood up.

"I do not wish to speak of it," Anthria answered coolly as she stood. There was another hollow and stricken look on her face. "And I will _not_ be speaking of it." Then she turned and walked away, her body stiff with tension.

The Prince turned and looked at Farah, who looked back at him in confusion.

--&--

Above deck, Anthria grasped the wheel of the ship in a vise-like grip. Her face was stony from the pain that memory had brought.

Though her son's memory made the woman in her rise back into her bosom, it was the images of what she had done in Sparta that drove her to the point of madness. It was what had caused her steady dissension with Hades.

The mere thought of what she had done caused Anthria's body to convulse. Those blue eyes stared into her very soul, picking at the light and darkness in her that vied for power inside her.

She bit down hard on her bottom teeth, gripping them together so hard she thought they would shatter under the pressure. But they held firm, just as her entire body did when all she wanted to do was let it decay.

"Now is not the time to think of it. It is in the past. There is no changing the past," Anthria told herself as she tilted her head to the sky.

But those blue eyes would not leave her alone. She could not remove them from her head. They continued to stare at her from the very pits of darkness, judging and demanding and undoubting. Anthria shivered as she thought of those eyes. The image of them had been implanted in her head forever.

And over and over again a single voice played in her head. Over and over. Whenever she thought of those eyes, that haunting, musical voice reached her ears. And they haunted her very soul.

"_One day, you're going to save people like me."

* * *

_

**story notes:** (1)since I have no exact time period for this story I merely guessed at how long Anthria has been alive. The Messesian War happened in the 7th and 8th century B.C. so I'd place this story about fifty-five to sixty years after that. It may not seem like a large amount of time to us know, but during that time that was a considerable amount.

(2)Anthria's characterization borrows traits from some of my favorite Greek/Roman media. The idea of Anthria's murdered family—and her finding of them—is taken from _Gladiator_, the movie staring Russell Crowe as a general turned slave during the height of the Roman Empire. Though Crowe's character is a Spaniard, and takes place several hundred years after this story, he and Anthria share a basic principal.

(3)another major influence on Anthria's character is Kratos from _God of War_, one of the best games ever—and it was made in the Grecian times! Yay!—and very important in affecting Anthria's character. The idea of Anthria seeking revenge against the man who killed her family is taken from Kratos, as well as the idea of her fighting hydras, and her constant communication with the gods.

**reviews**

**Black-Phoenix10:** no problem, I'm a helpless romantic, too! See how close Farah and the Prince got? It's actually surprising how much of a plot this story have, considering it was just supposed to be a way to get Farah and the Prince back together.

**Rexnos:** yeah, Romans were doers, not thinkers. But that's why they've got the most powerful empire in all history! XD But I like that "they were better at being Greek than the Greeks" thing you said, mostly because it's so true. And you'll be happy to know that we're now basically done with Anthria and that the next chapters are all going to be very action oriented, with the Prince returning to his flippy-flippy origins!

**Sakura123:** there are too many gods to count! Each area of the world has their own mythology—from Indian, Greek, Nordic, Celtic, and Native American to name a few—my only regret is that I can't include the gods from the other areas of the world, throwing the Irish god of death and battle Morrigan would be awesome, but hey… that would make this story just too crazy.

**Black Emerald Dawn:** I watch way to much Grey's Anatomy (even though I'm mad at basically everyone on that show). Anyway, now that the Prince is all up and not dead there's going to be fluff! You don't think he'd just let Farah get away, do you?

**OliveraT:** it seems that I've annoyed you! Sorry! Anyway, school tends to get in the way of the best intentions, so I'm going to point the blame at it. On the note of writing feelings of other people, I found it hard to do at first as well. The key is, really, to really know your character. If you feel like you know them well then it's easy to guess what they'd be feeling in the situation you put them in. And, if all else fails, becoming the omnipresent narrator works perfectly well too! XD

**AznPuffyHair:** ah, I was waiting for the question. Farah still hasn't, doesn't she? Well, I can't claim that the Dagger has a _huge_ use in this story like it did in SoT, but the Prince will use it. The whole reason why I'm staying away from having character using is because, yes, without Sand Creatures there is no real way to recover lost sand.

**Kathryn Kelly:** hey, that means a lot coming from you! Being a Latin student, and an avid reader, it only made sense that I would lap up the mythology. But, also, I just love mythology in all forms. Can't help it. And I know what you mean about newspaper. I hate nonfiction writing, yet here I am as a writer on the paper. And I always do sports. I _hate_ sports. Why can't we just review the school play or something? And me and editor always clash when I'm writing a football game feature because I tend to get sarcastic. I'm off sports indifferently now and will be sticking to teacher features because I started my last article off with: "Some people like to inflection pain on themselves; some people slit their wrists, some people take drugs… I sit through football games." And then I ended it with "I laughed, I cried, I tried to sit my throat with a dull switchblade." I would tell you that I did on purpose so they'd kick me out of the sports section… but that just a rumor.

**Wingéd Demon VM:** thank you. I'm glad you're enjoying and I'm sorry that the updates tend to go so slow. XD

**Next Chapter Preview**

"_What?" the Prince asked, breaking Anthria's pensive thoughts._

_Calmly, she looked away. She had not realized she had been staring. "Nothing," she answered. Then she looked back at him. "How do you know Farah?"_

_A look flashed in the Prince's eyes. Anthria sensed the dangerous subject she was wading into, but she did not care. The last thing—after all she had done and seen—she was was afraid of a boy with a temper._

"_It isn't your concern," he curtly replied, looking away._

"_She does not know you," Anthria pointed out softly._

"_No, she doesn't. For two years I kept her from my mind and then she walks back into it." The Prince cursed and looked at the ceiling. "It was foolish of me to hope… that she would remember."_

"_You are from Persia?" A nod. "You are it's Prince?" Another nod. "Once, I heard from Hades not more than two years ago that someone had stumbled onto an ancient, lost relic of Cronos, the god of time. A Dagger, if I recall correctly. The Dagger of Time, he said. That Dagger could open the Sands of Time, the sand the control our Hourglasses—our lives—and I heard that the boy who had accidentally found the Dagger of Time had unleashed those sands."_

"_Your gods know much of what goes on outside of Greece."…_

…"_How did you get the Dagger in the first place? I've always wondered."_

"_In a way you would not believe," the Prince answered with a self-mocking smirk, thinking back to the tale he had spent all night telling her. She had not believed him then. He doubted she would now._

_Now matter how much he wished her to._

"_I feel," she murmured, her eyes shaded by her dark lashes. "Like I know you from somewhere."_

_His heart nearly exploded from his chest. He wished desperately to cup her cheeks, bring her closer, to beg her to remember. For so long he had wondered what if. What if he had trusted her? What if he had listened to her? What if he had gotten there in time?_

_Farah stepped an inch closer. And then another. She tilted her head to meet his eyes._

_They were so close he could feel her body heat radiating off her. His finger itched to hold, to remember what it was to hold her. And Farah looked so willing…_


	14. Athens' Inn

**Disclaimer:** Things would have been shockingly different had I owned _Prince of Persia_

**Spoilers:** at this point, there should be no spoilers but check the prologue anyway

**Author's Notes:** yes, I am aware of how late this is. It's been like two months since my last update, right? Sorry. But, hey, several things just suddenly happened all at once and PoP ended up on the back burner.

But I solemnly swear to try to be more consistent and on time. But I _am_ in A.P. Economics right now so…

* * *

/_Chapter Thirteen: Athens_' _Inn/_

"**From each she nicely culls with curious toil,  
****And deck the goddess with the glittering spoil.  
****This casket India**'**s glowing gems unlocks,  
****And all of Arabia** **breathes from yonder box  
****The tortoise and elephant unite  
****Transformed to combs, the speckled and the white"  
**-Alexander Pope, "_The Rape of the Lock"

* * *

_

When Anthria had gone, Farah and the Prince were quiet for a long while. They both rested on the hammock, it swaying lightly from the constant, continuous rocking of the sea. Farah's eyes were closed as she concentrated on happier memories while the Prince's remained open and aware.

After a long moment, the Prince turned to look at Farah and said in an even voice, "We cannot trust her."

"No?" Farah questioned and opened her eyes, peeking at him from over the arms she curled around her legs. "Why not?"

"She thinks that man that killed her family is alive." At the memory of Anthria's story, the Prince felt his face darkened. But then, he shook his head. Yes, Anthria's story had been sad and tragic, but it was the past. What he had to concern himself with was getting Farah home safe and sound. "She might betray us if she thinks that it will help further her revenge."

Farah didn't want to believe Anthria was capable of such a thing, but neither could she forget how Anthria had been before she had deserted her god Hades. The woman would do anything she saw fit to do, and nothing would stop her.

In the end, Farah knew that if Anthria had to choose between them or her revenge, she and the Prince would lose.

"I know," she answered. "But Capetraion is likely dead, right?"

"I don't know. Anthria seems to have formed the opinion that he's not and what really matters to Anthria is what _she_ thinks…" the Prince replied with a helpless shrug. "We'll have to work with her… but be prepared to fight her if need be. Keep your guard up at all times."

"Don't worry about that," Farah admitted, hitching her shoulder. Her fingers had never strayed far from her bow and arrows. And she knew the Prince always had his weapons within his reach. "But shouldn't you be worrying about… me…?"

"I trust you, Farah," the Prince said with a self-mocking grin.

Her dark cheeks were stained with a blush. She hated when he did that. It was almost as if they were both in on some insiders joke, but she was too slow to keep up with the Prince's quick wit. Which, she assured herself, was certainly not true.

This Prince of Persia was just another man who seemed to think that he had superiority over a woman just because he was a man. Well, Farah would show him.

"I would be nervous of me, if I were you," she warned lightly, touching the top of her silver bow. "After all, Persia and India are enemies, are they not? Perhaps I will do my country a favor and shoot you with an arrow."

"I'm sure you would, if you really had to. You do love India, Farah," the Prince said with that self-loathing smile once more.

Once again, Farah found herself frustrated beyond all belief with this man. It seemed he was always one step ahead of her. She felt like tearing her hair out.

Instead, she walked around the cramped space of the ship, well aware of the Prince's eyes upon her. It made her uncomfortable, and yet at the same time there was this underlying emotion that it felt… _right_ to have him look at her as if he knew every intimate inch of her body.

"_My love… please don't leave me…"_

"_What did you just call me?"_

Her fingers clenched in rage. She hated the feelings the swarmed her. The sensation of half-knowing something. Of it being there, but her fingers unable to grasp the gossamer threads to find out what her soul was keeping from her.

The Prince knew what it was, suddenly she had no doubt.

"What exactly is it you want me to remember?" she demanded as she whirled to face him. She wasn't sure if she was even saying anything remotely to the truth, but her gut clenched with the knowledge that the Prince was trying to press a memory into her brain, which refused to even think of remembering it.

"Farah, I—" the Prince stood and walked toward her, one hand reaching out for her arm. Farah jumped back.

"I don't know you," she pointed out, hating the tingling sensation that ran up her arm just from the knowledge that he was about to touch her. She was lying. Something inside her did know him.

But it hurt her too much to try to remember.

His hand dropped. "No… you don't know me, do you?"

"What?" Farah asked, trying to comprehend in the center of her mind just what the young man before her was saying. Something told her that she _should_ know… but at the same time, she knew she shouldn't.

This man before her should be nothing more than an enigma to her. She shouldn't feel like she could place him somewhere, from a past long forgotten.

Stiffly, the Prince turned and walked away, up into the cool ocean breeze. Farah rubbed her temples, dispelling the queasiness and uneasiness in her stomach. Something inside her was tearing at her bowels in a desperate attempt to reach something.

Though she did not know what her body clamored for, she knew she did not like it. She had never felt like this before, inadequate and guilty of something she did not do. The Prince brought the feelings up…

Like she had betrayed him.

That was impossible. Farah had only met him for a few moments on her balcony before he had come to rescue her from Anthria's clutches.

That was all. That was the complete sum of their time together. Right?

But there was a little voice inside her head whispering to her. She felt its slimy tentacles caress her ears as she shivered.

_Liar._

Shaking her head, wrapping her hands around her arms, she pushed herself out of the cabin. Her face was immediately pounded by a brisk, chilled salty wind. She blinked as hard flecks hit her eyes.

In the distance, gleaming over the dark clouds and rushing waves, she could see Athens(1).

Once, when an Indian ambassador had come from journeys abroad, he had spoken of Athens. His eyes had been wide and awed, telling Farah and her father about the wonders of this strange, foreign Grecian world.

She felt none of that awe and admiration. All she felt was cold and frightened.

Anthria was manning the wheel, as she always was. The Prince was by her side, making the occasional suggestion that went ignored. Their tiny ship rocked itself ever closer to the blip of a shore.

Farah almost wanted to question both the Prince and Anthria on the silent worry of their experiences in Athens, or what they expected to see and do there. She herself had no real idea of what to expect, save the ranting of an ambassador she had never been particularly fond of.

But Anthria's face stopped her. It was an odd mixture of coolness and rage. Her eyes were stony and dark. It was the face of a woman who killed.

Shivering again, but this time not from the cold, Farah turned to look out at the stormy sea.

--&--

Anthria guided the small ship to an open Athenian dock. The Prince leapt onto the wooden planks with his athletic grace and quickly tied the ship off.

As the young Indian princess went to the side of the ship facing Athens, Anthria moved to help her out.

"I can do it myself," Farah told her, moving quickly at her grasp. Anthria almost blinked. There was something almost _hurt_ in Farah's tone.

Shrugging she watched the dark-skinned girl leap, landing next the Prince as his face remained contorted in a mixture of horror and concern. Then it quickly changed to a look of anger, as he demanded to know what she thought she was doing.

Ignoring them both, Anthria touched down on the Athenian dock, blinking at her feet. How long had it been since her sandals had felt Athenian wood? How long had it been since she had inhaled the air here?

The last time she had been here…

She shook head and motioned Farah and the Prince to be quiet.

"Is it…" Farah gnawed on her lip lightly, glancing around at their surroundings. Athens was oddly gray, there was an eerie light cast upon the muddy, stone city from the clouds above them. "Is it always like this?"

"No," she answered, pressing a hand to her sword's hilt to relax herself. She knew what Farah was feeling. Athens was too quiet for such a hustling city. "The people are in destitute… their patron goddess, Athena(2), no longer harkens to their call." She cast her eyes to the sky, looking on as the thunder clapped.

"I didn't know that Ares and Hades had reached Athens, as well," the Prince added. "If something like that had happened, wouldn't we have heard of it?"

"No. The takeover was so subtle and wicked, that no one saw it coming. Hades had their rulers quietly killed… and then replaced them with one of his servants." She shrugged at the Prince and Farah's horrified look. "What? Surely you're not new to a coup."

"My father's family has ruled India for many years," Farah retorted, throwing her chin out in a small act of defiance.

"Mine as well," the Prince agreed, his green gaze scanning every inch of the immediate area. He looked clearly on edge and Anthria did not hold it against him.

"Consider yourselves lucky." She turned from them both, her sandals hitting the wood as she went. "Follow me. I know where we will stay tonight."

Without a word, the Prince and Farah followed Anthria. She felt their eyes burning on her back and she almost winced.

They didn't trust her.

Well, of course they didn't. And could she really blame them? She had started out as their enemy, she would have willingly handed Farah over to a lustful king, and had every intention of killing the Prince before Hades' betrayal.

There was also the fact that she was sure Capetraion was alive. How could they possibly understand that? The man was responsible for the death her family—her mother, her father, her little son—and through that she had a deep, burning connection with him. If he were dead, she would know it. She would feel it.

And, she knew, if she had to trade in Farah and the Prince to achieve her goal then she would. It wouldn't be anything personal. But her revenge had fueled her for so long, burning and destroying her body as it went. She yearned, as she yearned for nothing else, for his blood to color her hands.

Briefly, she closed her eyes. Pain radiated from her body. She did not dwell often on Capetraion. It drained her mind, body, and soul. The man was like a leech, sucking life and spirit from her.

But she would kill him. And she would show no mercy doing it.

"We're here," she said, stopping as she came to the small, two-story stone inn. There was a small fire cooking inside and a plume of smoke rose from the roof. Absently, Anthria fingered the gold bag she had tied around her waist. There wasn't much left in it…

She pushed open the door, stepping into the slight warmth. It was not surprising to her to see that few were in the dinning area of the inn. Not many people made journeys with the gods quarreling thusly.

A buxom maid hurried over to them, a fluttering small on her young face. "Can I help you, travelers?" she asked lightly. But Anthria took note of how she angled her body. The maid had a knife on her somewhere, and she was prepared to use it if they became hostile.

"We seek rooms for a night or two," Anthria said absently, holding her hands palm-out. It showed the maid that she meant no harm. "We need…" She glanced over at Farah and the Prince, who were staring wide-eyed at their surrounding. "Two. Two rooms."

Looked like she would be bunking with Farah.

"Of course," the maid gave her a small curtsy and scurried from the dinning room.

As Anthria faced her two allies, she supposed she could understand their curiosity. Most places in Athens were elegantly designed and decorated. And the inn was no exception to it.

Tapestries hung from the walls. Anthria recognized them as tales from her childhood. There, Zeus flying into the arms of his future wife Hera in the guise of a wounded cuckoo. And on the other side of the wall, Prometheus withering in pain as an eagle devoured his liver—penalty for giving humans fire. And there was pale, stone-cold Persephone upon her throne of thorns, the once sun-bright goddess married to the Lord of the Dead.

Anthria did not envy her former mistress.

"Your culture is very violent," Farah murmured, staring up at the last tapestry. Pandora looking horrified as the box she had just opened spilled out misery and woe on the world, with only a tiny bit of hope remaining.

"Yes," Anthria agreed. "And there are so many more. Much more. The gods are cruel creatures."

"You rooms are ready," the maid said as she returned from the hallways adjacent to the small dinning area. "First ones on the right and left." Then, as she turned to head back to the fire cooking in the kitchen, she added, "This maybe ain't the best time to be here, alright?"

"We know," Anthria answered and watched as the maid stiffly walked away.

--&--

The sky darkened and the thunder clapped hard above their heads. Anthria sat in the dinning area of the inn, sipping hot ale and staring at the fire cooking in the stone fireplace to her left.

The maid—who was likely only one of two people who currently ran the inn—had retired to her private room when Anthria had told her nothing would be required.

Truth was, Anthria wanted to be alone. For a blissful moment, she wanted to stare into the crackling fire and think of nothing. She wanted to pretend, for a moment only, that she was just a woman visiting Athens.

But thoughts pressed against her skull, and gave her no rest. How could she possibly relax when she was in Athens? The people here branded her a murderer. They feared her after what she had done to their city—leading Hades' army into Athens, destroying everything.

_All that blood and fire, cooking flesh… Hades' cackle as he takes in the useless violence._

_The people scrambling to get away, running from the dark god and his cold warrior. She slaughters them all as they run by, her body coated in their blood._

"_One day you're going to save people like me."_

The Prince took a seat beside her. Anthria jolted out of her mind, grateful for it despite the painful surprise. Her temples throbbed in memory.

She cast a sideways glance at the Prince, noting absently that they had never truly been alone together. Farah had always been with the Prince, but the young, dark-haired woman had retired for the night.

Speaking of Farah…

It was odd that this young man seemed so bent on protecting a woman he hardly knew. From what she could gather from Farah—her reactions and emotions—she had never met this man, at least not on a personal level.

Yet, there was an obvious connection. Farah had risked life and limb to protect him. He had fought demon and man to see her face. And the Prince… well he didn't act like Farah. Every time he stared at her, there was a look of recognition on his face. Like a man returning home to his wife after years at war.

_Hmm_. And his eyes were different from a boy of his age, Anthria mused. There was no innocence in them. Even youths like him who had lived through war and hell retained some innocence in the depths of their irises. But she saw nothing of the sort in the dark eyes of the Prince.

They reminded her, slightly, of the eyes of a god. Ageless, timeless…

Timeless…

Yes. She knew what eyes looked like when they had seen the ages pass. Her eyes reflected the same look.

Her mind was drawn to the image of the odd dagger Farah carried, and still did. When she had touched it, she had felt the traces of Cronos—the god of time—on it. Whatever that dagger was it had some odd power over time, she was sure of it. It was god-blessed. She had been around the gods too long not to recognize the things they had touched.

And Farah's amulet. That had the traces of Cronos as well. And the bow Farah wielded. There was a god's imprint on it as well—though whose she could not tell; it had been shadowed from her.

"What?" the Prince asked, breaking Anthria's pensive thoughts.

Calmly, she looked away. She had not realized she had been staring. "Nothing," she answered. Then she looked back at him. "How do you know Farah?"

A look flashed in the Prince's eyes. Anthria sensed the dangerous subject she was wading into, but she did not care. The last thing she was afraid of —after all she had seen and done—was a boy with a temper.

"It isn't your concern," he curtly replied, looking away.

"She does not know you," Anthria pointed out softly.

"No, she doesn't. For two years I kept her from my mind and then she walks back into it." The Prince cursed and looked at the ceiling. "It was foolish of me to hope… that she would remember."

"You are from Persia?" A nod. "You are its Prince?" Another nod. "Once, I heard from Hades no more than two years ago that someone had stumbled onto an ancient, lost relic of Cronos, the god of time. A Dagger, if I recall correctly. The Dagger of Time, he said. That Dagger could open the Sands of Time, the sands that control our Hourglasses—our lives—and I heard that the boy who had accidentally found the Dagger of Time had unleashed those sands."

"Your gods know much of what goes on outside of Greece."

She shrugged. "Cronos was the father-god(3) of the Olympian gods, and his relics are powerful and dangerous. They are always ready to take them when they show their heads." The Prince said nothing, looking away from her. "That boy returned the Sands to their rightful home, correct? He was from Persia, though the Dagger was in India if I am right. Do you perhaps, know him?"

"Why do you think I would know him?" the Prince countered, his eyes blazing. " Persia is no small country."

"I have seen the ages leak back. I can recognize the same look in someone else."

"I did know him, once," the Prince offered, his voice thick and husky. "But he's changed now."

"As we all must, in time," Anthria answered and watched the Prince leave before turning silently back to her ale.

The Prince just wanted to sleep, rest his weary body in a dreamless, dark sleep. But Anthria had stirred up memories. How could she have possibly suspected? Had he not erased the entire error from history? Or were people who were servants of the gods, and gods themselves, unable to feel the effect of the Sands?

As he fumbled with the latch to his door, he nearly missed seeing Farah. He jerked his head around to stare at her. She had her hands clasped in front of her, leaning against her doorframe.

He recognized instantly the glint of silver in her folded hands. His body nearly recoiled in shock as memories pumped through him.

_Taking the Dagger in the Maharaja's treasure vault. _

_Placing it into the tiny notch of the Hourglass. _

_Farah's voice shouting at him to plunge the Dagger into his enemies. _

_The shining dome on top of the Hourglass… awaiting the Dagger. _

_Finally swinging himself around the treasure room of Azad, all hesitation lost, and plunging the Dagger deep…_

Farah approached him, pressing the cool hilt of the blade against his palm. Gently, she said, "You had this two years ago. I—I do not wish to use it, ever. But you seem to know how. Perhaps you should take it?"

He nearly said no. This Dagger had only caused him pain and loss. And yet… it had saved his life more than once during the course of his journey in Azad. And, in the end, it had been the key to correcting his mistake.

Weakly, wearily, his fingers closed over the hilt. Farah gave it to him, a look of relief painted on her face. Yes, of course. She hadn't wanted it anymore than he.

"How did you get the Dagger in the first place? I've always wondered."

"In a way you would not believe," the Prince answered with a self-mocking smirk, thinking back to the tale he had spent all night telling her. She had not believed him then. He doubted she would now.

No matter how much he wished her to.

"I feel," she murmured, her eyes shaded by her dark lashes. "Like I _know_ you from somewhere."

His heart nearly exploded from his chest. He wished desperately to cup her cheeks, bring her closer, to _beg_ her to remember. For so long he had wondered, what if. What if he had trusted her? What if he had listened to her? What if he had gotten there in time?

Farah stepped an inch closer. And then another. She tilted her head to meet his eyes.

They were so close he could feel her body heat radiating off her. His finger itched to hold, to remember what it was to hold her. And Farah looked so willing…

Then her eyes snapped back. He could sense her mind shutting down, drowning out all thoughts of a past that wasn't really a past. She backed away, her hands rising to clasp at her breast. She managed a shaky smile.

"Goodnight," she breathed and darted into her room, slamming the door.

For a long while, the Prince stared after her, willing her to come back. But, of course, she never did. And what else could have possibly happened?

He stepped forward, pressing his fingers lightly against the door. He leaned in for just a moment, imaging Farah sleeping on the other side. He closed his eyes and envisioned her. Lovely and tan and so completely unaware of him…

With a long, deep sigh he backed away and retired to his own room.

What he didn't realize was that on the other side of that door rested Farah, her hand in the same position his hand had been, her forehead cradled against the wood, and her breathing even and deep.

And she wondered, _what's happening to me?

* * *

_

**Story Notes**

(1) Though Athens was a major port city during ancient times the port that most would dock, Piraeus, was a different city entirely. However, because this can get confusing (since Piraeus is Athens' port) I decided just to add the too cities together and call them Athens. That is what has happened in modern time. Athens was one of the largest cities in Ancient Grecian times and was the home of many religious sites. The Temple of Athena, called the 'Parthenon', sat on the highest hill of Athens, the Acropolis. Also in the city were two other major temples. The Temple of Hephaestus (the black-smith god) and the Temple of Olympian Zeus, which the largest temple in Greece during its time. Athens is surrounded by high hills and rivers and most of its side so it was a well fortified city-state. It also had high, protective walls around the city. Anthria and the others bypass them, but they are still there.

(2) No one is really sure whether Athens took their name from Athena or if it was the other way around. However, Athena has always been the patron-god of Athens. The legend goes that she bested Poseidon for the name of the city, which had already been predicted to be a great on. She gave them the olive tree while Poseidon (depending on which version you read) gave them either a salty spring or a horse. Ironically, Athena was also the patron-goddess of Sparta, though Ares is today normally equated with the city.

(3) Cronos is a strange god to figure out. Mythology places him as the father to Zeus and the other main pantheon of gods. He was defeated by Zeus, who took power, and little else is said about him. He was either banished to some far-off paradise or the Greeks merely lost interest in him. Cronos is equated with the Roman god Saturn, who ironically is a mere corn-god. But both Cronos and Saturn have come to be considered gods of time, thus I have the Prince's amulet and Dagger come from him.

**reviews**

**AznPuffyHair:** the Dagger _will_ be used, but because of the lack of Sand and the lack of availability of it, it won't be used until the very end. And, obviously, the gods didn't release the Sand Monsters, but they knew what was happening. Not their continent not their problem.

**Rexnos:** yeah. Really to get people like Anthria you have to have some glorious angst in there. Plus, she _was_ modeled after Kratos from God of War, you know. As for Russell Crowe being a Spaniard in the movie, maybe I was wrong. I was pretty sure that they said him home was in Spain with his wife and kid so I just assumed that if he lived in Spain that he was originally from Spain. Crowe's character might not have been a actual Spaniard but I'm pretty sure that he lived in Spain with his family when the movie started. He was talking about returning there and because he never stated whether or not he was a Roman, I assumed he was Spanish.

**crazymaneesh:** thanks! It took me a while to get Anthria to were I wanted her to be but I'm pleased with the results. XD Sorry about the really slow update. Always hope for the better!

**Black-Phoenix10:** I can claim that Farah and the Prince are getting together _soon_, but they are getting together. If they weren't, I wouldn't be righting this.

**Sakura123:** Anthria was on the best terms with the gods (understandably) when she died so I doubt it even occurred to her to seek Hades' aid. At that point, she just wanted to be with her family. And, yes, Anthria's life sucks and there is still one little piece of information that she hasn't revealed yet. Farah and the Prince are going to be awkward for a while yet, by the way.

**OliveraT:** yup, you're right. Farah took one step forward and then two back. But I promise that this was only the beginning of the further romance between Farah and the Prince!

**Wingéd Demon VM:** well, we're mostly done with Anthria now. She's got one or two more things to tell Farah and the Prince but everything from here on out is more plot than character development, excluding the Prince and Farah of course. :D

**LeMaCh:** that's me. I'm a shameless history buff and it tends to show in all of my work. Sometimes my knowledge of dead things frightens people… but I'm glad you're enjoying my unhealthy obsession!

**ForgottenDespairs:** thanks! I'm glad you're enjoying this that much!

**tet:** I swear upon the Powers that Be that I will finish this. Even if it kills… someone who's not me.

**Sayian Knight:** …um… I'm sorry…?

**Next Chapter Preview**

_…"You know me," Farah said suddenly, her voice drawn and husky. Her eyes were looking off into the distance, as if she was waging some war inside her._

_"Farah—" _

_"Don't lie to me," she snapped, jerking her head around to meet his eyes. She bared her teeth at him. "Don't. I know when you're lying." _

_"Yes. We know each other. We meet… in your bedroom. Before the Vizier, remember?" the Prince turned away from her, trying not to allow his memories to flash across his face. Azad never happened. _

_"No. That's not enough," Farah said and choked on something inside her body. There was a whisper of some promise against her ear but it was lost by the pain of the headache pounding against her eyes. "Not enough to explain why I know you." _

_The Prince had no answer for her, he couldn't bring himself to tell her something she would scoff out. For she would never believe in him again. _

_"Your story, the one you told me…" Something was screaming inside her head. Something that sounded like: no, no. I don't want to hear this. I don't want to know. "Tell me it again."… _

_…"Just what do you think you're doing!?" the Prince snapped, jumping to his feet. Anthria stared at him coolly, and it was likely she was unaware of the closeness between Farah and the Prince. _

_"Today, we cannot go to the _ _Temple__ of _ _Athena__," Anthria said and she was once again the woman who had stormed Farah's palace, kidnapped the princess, and killed countless others. _

_It snapped Farah out of her deep thoughts. "What are talking about? Hades and Ares are moving. We must hurry to _ _Sparta__!" _

_"I cannot." Anthria snarled deeply and she was filled with such rage that the Prince and Farah were put on edge. The Prince reached for the only weapon he had on him, the Dagger of Time. "A traitor is here and I will see his just punishment." _

_"A traitor? You mean that man, the one who killed your—"_


	15. A Man Called Capetraion

**Disclaimer:** nothing, do I own

**Spoilers:** I'm beginning to feel this is pointless

**Author's Notes:** _another_ late update, but in all fairness, this was chapter was ready to go last month, but a computer crash erased all my files and had me scrambling to find everything that had been loss. But, finally, we're here! I've been saying this for a while, but I hereby solemnly swear the next chapter will be ON TIME. Earlier if I can manage.

Let the action begin…

_

* * *

/Chapter Fourteen: A Man Called Capetraion/_

"**Revenge- the feeling of an angered heart!  
****That gushes like a fountain from the start,  
****Or hits the foes like an arrow or dart,  
****From which the embittered mind cannot part."  
**-Doctor John Celes, "Sonnet: Revenge"

* * *

It was early morning when Anthria roused herself from sleep. She shook herself free of Lord Morpheus and watched as the golden rays of Helios slide across the wood of her room.

Beside her, resting on a thin cot no more than two feet away from her, was Farah. Throughout the course of the night, Farah had been constantly restless. Anthria had lain awake, watching the silver of the moon, as Farah twisted herself in the thin linen that acted as her blanket.

She had murmured things in her sleep. Mostly incoherent words, but Anthria had caught a few. Time had been a prominent word in her vocabulary. She had caught the word Persia as well, and love perhaps, but Anthria had been too consumed in her own thoughts to worry herself too much.

Athens was calling her. There was something here, and it was more than the knowledge that this was the last step to ending Hades and Ares bid for power. There was something here and she felt it in her skin. For whatever reason, she needed to be here. Needed, at this moment, to be in Athens.

For a moment, she was content to lounge on the thin, uncomfortable cot, her mind drifting over the possibilities. They were almost done with their journey. After Athens would come Sparta and then Anthria would have fulfilled her debt.

Then she could focus on her true goal.

Capetraion…

Her hand closed into a fist over the thin sheet, threatening to tear it apart. When she was done with him, Capetraion would be wishing to the gods that he had died. Already, Anthria could taste the blood and see its shockingly red color sliding across the ground.

Oh yes, soon she would have her revenge and when she did…

The soul of her son could rest in peace.

There was a nagging worry over what _she_ would do when she found her revenge at last, but she pushed it to the back of her mind. All that mattered to her was repaying her debt and killing Capetraion. Nothing else.

She strapped on her sandals and donned her twin swords. She doubted weapons would be needed in Athens, but she hadn't traveled without them for so long now that it was a second nature to strap them to her back.

"Are you going?" a voice called just as Anthria pushed herself to her feet.

Though she considered leaving without a word, Anthria turned back to Farah. The dark-haired princess had recently pushed herself into an upright position and her eyes were still dozy from her restless sleep.

"I've never been to Athens," she managed with a bit of a smile. "I thought I'd explore it a little before we press on."

"You don't explore," Farah accused, though her eyes were unreadable in the sunlight that shifted behind her.

"I suppose not."

"What are you looking for?" Farah asked as she swatted a strand of dark hair that covered her eye. "Or should I say _who_?"

_She's so young_, Anthria thought as an odd, uncharacteristic sadness swarmed her. _So young._ "What I do with my personal time is my own, Farah."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that." With a vulnerable look covering her eyes, Farah brought her knees to her chin, closing her eyes briefly to hide their pain. "I'm just so… lonely, I suppose."

Because Farah looked—for the first time—alone and afraid and young, Anthria bent down beside her, cupping her chin in hand, the way a mother would her child entering adulthood.

"You'll be home soon. And everything will be fine then, you'll see." She smiled briefly at Farah, trying to convey the very hope she didn't feel.

"I feel like I know him," Farah breathed.

And she said it in such a clear, helpless voice that Anthria did not need to know who. She glanced at the door and back down at Farah. She titled her head at the girl, watching as her dark lashes lowered over her dark eyes.

"Perhaps you do. He seems to know you."

A smile tugged at the corners of Farah lips. "I think I would remember someone like _him_. I've met him before, yes, but not… I feel like I knew him nearly as well as myself and yet… I've certainly not known him for longer than a few moments save when he rescued me from you."

"If you have questions for him, Farah, then you should ask them." She stood and approached the door, hand outstretched for the latch. "Better to know the truth than to wallow in uncertainty."

"Would you? Would you ask him?"

When she turned to glance at Farah over her shoulder, Anthria's smile met her eyes. "I can't give you that advice, Farah. I have no experience in the courting of men and women."

"But you were married—"

"An arranged marriage, yes." Anthria nodded to herself and opened the door. "The romance between my husband and me never came. It was not necessary. Whatever love sprang between us it came after our marriage. This is one thing I cannot help you with, Farah."

With that, she turned and left Farah to her thoughts.

--&--

Athens was a sprawling city of pillars and graying mud. The dark, heavy clouds that conjugated over the city added an eerie glow to the white coliseums and temples. Athens had always been open and breezy, even the crowded houses of the residents of the city. Thatch and wood keep the harshest of the chill out.

Though the sun had barely begun to progress across the horizon—and it was only an occasional glimpse through dark clouds that allowed Anthria to see this—the marketplace place was already bustling.

"Apricots!" a heavy-set woman cried from her stall. "Fresh apricots!"

None of this interested Anthria very much, but she often found that immersing herself in the everyday hustle and bustle of a community offered her information that she would not find elsewhere.

No one blinked at the swords she strapped to her back. Too many people carried them these days, with the gods all locked in their epic battle against one another she supposed there was reason enough for weapons.

There were, now, no gods to turn to. The people were forced to rely on themselves for protection.

Still, Anthria wondered if the people had allowed their temples to go lax during the periods of the gods' great abandonment.

In cities such as Thrace or Sparta or Mesopotamia Anthria was sure that the temples had fallen into deep neglect. But the Athenians had always been devout believers of the gods. Surely they would not fall victim to the same disgrace as well?

She glanced over her shoulder toward the hilltops. Resting on the highest hill, the grass browning around it, was a building curved from the purest white of stones. It was squat and square, like most temples, but even from here Anthria could make out the simmering of its gold ornaments.

But the Temple of Athena had been absented for many years. The blood that had been splattered—dyed deep into the stones—had made the sacred grounds of the temple a place of evil and cruelty.

Anthria knew that, since she had caused it.

For a moment, her hands closed into fists to battle the helpless rage that swarmed her. Hades had made her do that, but the blame and shame of it lay solely with Anthria. What she had done… was unforgivable, even if she did not know it then.

Meaningfully, Anthria turned away from the temple and faced the muddy, darkened marketplace. It would do no good now, she knew, to think such thoughts. The past was past and she could not change it, even if she had wished to.

Besides, if Athena was willing to be of assistance…?

Something must have caused the goddess's heart to soften toward Anthria. _Hermes likely_, Anthria thought humorlessly.

Her musings were cut off when she found herself in front of an olive stand. Her fingers itched to take one of the juicy, plump fruits into her fingers. It had been so long since she had tasted an olive that she had nearly forgotten their tangy tinge.

They had been a favorite fruit of hers back when she had time for such things. Admittedly it had been a short period of time but she and her son had been sent a large package by her husband once and they had both loved the taste of olives.

Now, Anthria could not look upon olives without feeling angry, lonely, and wistful all at once.

"Do you want to buy?" the owner asked, a slip of girl who likely was so thin because she couldn't afford to feed herself properly. "I'm not bragging. My father owns the best olive farm in Athens."

"I don't doubt it." She cast another wistful look onto the succulent fruit. Her body yearned for the taste of it between her lips, even if only for one last time. And yet, her gold was running short. "However, I'm afraid what money I have must be saved for more… pressing matters."

"Then it is for free," the thin girl-child said purposefully. Her dark, plaited hair swatted at her back as she turned to reach for one of her olives. She pressed the juicy fruit into Anthria's palm before she could protest. "A gift from Athens."

"Athenians are… well known for their generosity," Anthria said simply, watching as the girl turned back to her ware. Her robes were white like a virgin's—she was unmarried, judging by that and her hair(1)—and much thicker than Anthria's Spartan designed ones. Athens was also known for their modesty.

"As we must be." The girl gave Anthria another bright smile as she turned to her again. "This town is favored by the gods, you see."

"Yes. I see very well. I have never been here before but I've always known of it's… majesty. It's dignity. It's grace."

"Athens must thus carry its reputation with a firm hand," the girl said with a nod in the direction of the highest building in all of Athens. Where the royal family resided. The pride the girl had in her city was apparent and it made her appear strong.

"Even during such trying times you keep this policy?" Anthria questioned, casting her eyes to the sky and the dark clouds that loomed above them.

"We must never lose our faith in the gods," the girl whispered in revere. "Zeus Almighty will smite us, if we do. Even in times such as these we must always respect the gods." She threw another glance toward the palace.

Anthria turned to be on her way. And she would have left—munching on her olive—except the girl opened her mouth one last time.

"So says our Lord Advisor Capetraion." With a delicate sniff of her nose, the girl returned to her selling duties.

The olive plum hit the ground as Anthria whirled, her hand gripping the girl's thin arm in a vise grip.

"Let go of me!" the girl shouted in horror, her eyes widening in fear.

"What name did you say?" Anthria demanded, caring little for the girl's cries and pain. "What name!?"

"Capetraion! Lord Capetraion!" the girl shrieked in terror. "He advises the royal family. Let me go. Let me go!" She broke down into tears as Anthria's nails broke through her delicate skin.

Heedless of the girl's sorrow, Anthria snarled from a place low in her throat, "Capetraion."

--&--

The Prince glanced up as the door to Farah and Anthria's room opened. A clean, freshly bathed Farah stepped out.

Their eyes meet from across the small expanse of the hallway. There was heavy tension between them, the Prince could almost taste it.

And because he didn't know how to ease such tension, he simply asked, "Anthria?"

"She went out," Farah answered shortly, looking as if she would rather go back into the room once more. But she was a princess first and foremost. She threw her chin out and looked regally at him. "She said she had business in town."

"Oh," was all the Prince said and offered no more. Farah's chin fell down and they stood on opposite sides of the hallway, refusing to look at one another.

In the darkest corner of his heart, the Prince wondered what effort it would take to break the gap between them—if it required any effort at all. Could they be brought back to the time when they knew each other? Or at least could the emotions that had been between them be restored?

It was such a hopeful thing—and the Prince had not felt hopeful in a long while—that he nearly clung to it. Clung to the far-reaching hope that Farah could love him one day as he loved her.

But then Farah raised her eyes to his and the Prince allowed the hope to fade. It was foolish and childish to cling to what was an impossibility, and the Prince had not been a child for years. Foolish perhaps, but far from childish.

"Well," Farah announced as she broke the silence.

"Well," the Prince agreed and shuffled from foot to foot, feeling awkward in his own skin. "Shall we go down to the bar and wait then? I could use a drink."

Farah snorted and sent him a look. "Drink? You? Aren't you a bit young for the taste of alcohol?"

His hackles rose accordingly. "Not as young as you think me, obviously. I assure you I handle my liquor _quite_ well." He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned a hip against the doorframe. "Or is it _you_ that cannot handle the taste of wine and seeks to escape the situation through mockery?"

"Hardly," Farah retorted with a thrust of her chin. "I have been sampling the finer wines since I was thirteen. My father allowed me to sample wine on my birthday and I had such a taste for it that he asks my opinion of a wine whenever he plans to greet guests."

"In my experience, _princess_, women no little or nothing of wine."

With a haughty, challenging look in her eyes, Farah walked off. "Luckily, I am here to change your mind, young prince."

There was something to be said in the easy way they sat next to each other in the quiet bar of the inn. This early in the morning, what few guests the inn hosted where still asleep and the Prince and Farah were left alone at the long table where they seated themselves.

Farah sipped her wine from the small glass she had been given, frowning lightly. "Not the worst, I suppose. Certainly not the best."

"You know much of wine, then?" the Prince teased, feeling a grin make itself across his face despite his best attempts to be serious.

"Yes. As I have told you." Farah sent him a look through the arch of her eyebrows.

The silence was back, and it was thicker this time. The Prince took a deep gulp of his drink, nearly wincing as it burned its way down his throat, while Farah seemed content to slosh hers in her glass.

He wanted to say something. Anything. Something that would make her understand what she couldn't possibly understand. She was so close yet she had never been farther away.

"You know me," Farah said suddenly, her voice drawn and husky. Her eyes were looking off into the distance, as if she was waging some war inside her.

"Farah—"

"Don't lie to me," she snapped, jerking her head around to meet his eyes. She bared her teeth at him. "Don't. I know when you're lying."

"Yes. We know each other. We meet… in your bedroom. Before the Vizier, remember?" the Prince turned away from her, trying not to allow his memories to flash across his face. Azad never happened.

"No. That's not enough," Farah said and choked on something inside her body. There was a whisper of some promise against her ear but it was lost by the pain of the headache pounding against her eyes. "Not enough to explain why I _know_ you."

The Prince had no answer for her, he couldn't bring himself to tell her something she would scoff at. For she would never believe in him again.

"Your story, the one you told me…" Something was screaming inside her head. Something that sounded like: _no, no. I don't want to hear this. I don't want to know._ "Tell me it again."

"Farah?" The Prince whipped his head around to look at her blazing eyes.

"Tell me it again."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I need to know." Maybe then, she reasoned, the ripping of her soul would stop. The part that wanted to know and the part that wanted to fight the memories might then at last be quelled.

"Alright. I'll tell you." He swung his chair out so they were facing each other. Taking a deep breathe he began, "It begins with the fall of an Indian maharaja—"

"Start it like you did before. The first night. You remember?"

"Yes. I—I couldn't forget it." He lowered his head for a moment and then blinked up at Farah in surprise as she gripped his hand in hers. Her eyes, dark and fathomless, welled him strength.

He sat straighter in the chair, never breaking their eye contact. She wanted to know. And so he would tell her. Even if it destroyed him to relive those memories, he would tell her because it was her right to know.

"Most people," he began slowly and watched as Farah's eyes lit with recognition. This was the part she remembered. "Think time is like a river, flowing swift and sure in one direction. But I have seen the face of time and I can tell you, they are _wrong_… time is an ocean in a storm…"

And so he told her. Wove his tale once more. They went back to the ransacked Indian palace, to the cavern hosting the Dagger of Time, to the young Prince more concerned with honor and glory than he was with fate. They were drawn to Azad, to the trickery of the Vizier, to the Sands that swept life away, to the adventure of the Prince and the woman he would love and lose all within the series of a number of days.

Farah was still as stone throughout the course of it, her body rigid and taut as she battled memories that didn't belong in her psyche. And yet, in those memories, they had a tinge of familiarity that she could not deny.

"And though I fight until the sands themselves are red with blood… I could not bring back the dead…"

Yes. Falling. Twisting, legs out into the rush of the wind as it cradles her tender limbs. Thinking, I have to do this. I have to do this for him. And for us. And for everyone. Or we are all doomed.

Right before the hard mating of back and ground, thinking one last time, I love him. And then the nothing of darkness. The snap of bones in the spine and neck. The thrill of knowing he'll do the right thing now…

And, and—

The Prince's story was over and Farah was staring at him as if she had never seen him before. She was pale, even under her natural tan, and she was shaking slightly in the glow of the early morning sunlight.

He looked and waited.

"Parts of your story…" Farah uttered softly, her eyes dreamy and far away, trying to catch the memories that eluded her grasp. "They're true, aren't they? I can believe it now. After what I've seen… and done. Which parts are true?"

His green eyes were sharp and piercing as they meet hers. Farah could almost feel them digging into her breasts and touching her very soul. "All of it was."

"And the girl… from your story?"

This time he was silent. But he did not stop looking at her.

She reached out, her fingers nearly shaking, and gripped the cloth sheathing his arm. "I know you," she whispered now, fighting the pain at the back of her head. "I do. I know you. Why—?"

But she didn't get to finish her sentence. The Prince was already reaching out and gripping her wrists, dragging her across what little space there was between them. She straddled him, her hands pressing against his shoulders for balance.

Wonder upon wonder, she didn't pull away. She couldn't. And, more importantly, she didn't want to. There was something that felt right in the way his arms closed over her waist, caging her to him.

"_Farah_…" the Prince breathed and her back tingled with the way it sounded. She knew the way he sighed her name. She knew.

Without saying a word, she closed her hands tighter into his shirt and leaned down. The Prince lifted his face up for the kiss.

Then, if they had kissed, she might have remembered everything. Azad, the Prince, everything. The memories were so close to her then that it would only take one last push for her to completely clutch them.

The Prince's lips were merely an inch—less even—when Anthria stormed in.

The wind beat at her back, sending in a chill. Farah jumped away from the Prince as if she had been burned, a look of confusion mixed with horror on her face. The Prince closed and opened his fists as his body rebelled at finally holding what he had yearned for, only to have it taken away.

Because Farah looked far too fragile at that moment, he turned his helpless rage onto Anthria as she strode to them.

"Just what do you think you're doing!?" the Prince snapped, jumping to his feet. Anthria stared at him coolly, and it was likely she was unaware of the closeness between Farah and the Prince.

"Today, we cannot go to the Temple of Athena," Anthria said and she was once again the woman who had stormed Farah's palace, kidnapped the princess, and killed countless others.

It snapped Farah out of her deep thoughts. "What are talking about? Hades and Ares are moving. We must hurry to Sparta!"

"I cannot." Anthria snarled deeply and she was filled with such rage that the Prince and Farah were put on edge. The Prince reached for the only weapon he had on him, the Dagger of Time. "A traitor is here and I will see his just punishment."

"A traitor? You mean that man, the one who killed your—"

"Capetraion." Anthria whirled and moved back to the door. "I hadn't thought of it! I hadn't. Athens knew nothing of our traitors and Capetraion is smart, cunning. He would be useful to the royal family."

"Wait!" the Prince called and snapped her arm up. "What about the weapon promised to us at the temple? Hades and Ares move across the desert everyday. We don't have time to spare for petty vengeance!"

"This is no petty vengeance, _boy_," she spat in to his face, yanking her arm free. "With or without you, I go to give Capetraion his dues. Go to the temple without me, if you must. This I take care of first."

"What of your deal?" Farah called as Anthria exited the inn. "With the gods? What will they do?"

"Gods and deals be damned," Anthria shot back and was moving into the whip of the chilled wind. "I have waited _too_ long for this." And then she was gone.

Farah raced upstairs, the Prince hot on her heels. In her room, she found her bow and arrow set reclining against the threshold of the door. She slung the bow over her shoulder, hooking the arrow holster at her belt.

She looked so much like she had all those years ago that the Prince nearly dropped to his knees. Instead, he fetched his own sword, sheathing it to his back, and followed Farah out of the inn.

"Why are we going after her?" the Prince demanded as they followed the trail Anthria had blazed. "Surely we can collect this weapon on our own?"

"Your soul is bound by Anthria's debt. I would hate to think you'd lose it again because she's more concerned with revenge." She shot him a look, nearly smirking. "Besides, dear Prince, if you were her, what would you do?"

The Prince merely groaned long and deep in disgust and followed Farah.

They found her standing before the palace of Athens, her swords gripped tightly in her hand. Her eyes were blazing quietly as she stared at the figure standing before her.

He was a haggard old man, a jagged walking cane the only thing keeping him upright. He was balding on his head, but had a full beard traveling to his stomach. The robes he wore were purple and red and hung from his body, hiding its skeletal nature. But there was no doubting his powers. His eyes blazed a tawny gold in the gray atmosphere.

"Anthria… you look not a bit different from when I saw you last." Capetraion offered her a wrinkled smile as he wheezed out his words. "The gods have always favored you more so than me."

"Capetraion… it's been too long. _Much_ too long." Anthria bared her teeth at the old man, raising a sword to point it at him.

"Well… then… _come_."

Anthria approached the man, Farah and the Prince on her heels.

The smile that curved Capetraion's lips was the thing of evil. It made his face monstrous and it made the world uneasy. He lifted his cane into the air.

"People of Athens!" he cried, and all those who had come to watch the scene unfold were drawn to his face. "May I present to you…" He lowered his cane and pointed it at Anthria as she came at him. "The Scourge from Sparta!"

In the distance, and with anguish, someone shouted, "_The Scourge from Sparta!"_

"She's a murderer!"

"She'll kill us all!"

"Run! Run! She'll kill your children and feed them to Hades!"

But Anthria was not daunted. She kept marching forward, her whole body focusing on Capetraion.

And then, all hell broke loose.

* * *

**Story Notes**

(1) in most ancient Grecian cultural unmarried women—therefore considered "virgins"—were not allowed to have their hair free. And, usually, most unmarried girls kept their hair covered by a veil, or in a thick braid. Upon being married, the girl would let down her hair on her wedding day to show that she was severing herself from her girlhood and her family and joining her husband's household as a woman and his wife.

**reviews**

**bluetinkerbell:** why thank you. I've enjoyed writing the tension between the Prince and Farah, but it's about time for that to end. Farah's already accepted that she knows the Prince and that his story's true so… well, you'll see :P

**Black-Phoenix10:** of course they'll get together! This whole story was designed as an alternative way for Farah to get with the Prince!

**Rexnos:** actually, my sister's just watched _Gladiator_ in her history class and has informed that Russell Crowe's character is, in fact, Roman. Apparently, his wife his Spanish or something along those lines. But, whatever, I still love that movie. I just haven't seen in it in far too long. And, yes, Farah's hesitation and unwillingness to handle the Prince has come to an end. Her actions might be put on hold due to the events of the next couple of chapters, but expect a resolution soon. And don't worry about being a stickler, they make the world go 'round!

**Sakura123:** yes, chapter thirteen was a filler chapter. Since the next chapters are going to be terribly violent and very action-orientated, sprinkled with angst, I thought a nice setting with Farah, the Prince, and Anthria settling into Athens would calm everyone down before the big storm comes.

**OliveraT:** and now they've taken _three_ steps forward without taking one back at all! Which is always good:D

**AngelShadow816:** I'm a notoriously slow updater. I start out with the purest intentions, honest, and then one thing pops or another and I'm a month late. God, where does time go? Anyway, I hope you can stick around and continue to enjoy the story despite the poor updates! We're over halfway done!

**Wingéd** **Demon VD:** argh! Here I am, and totally not dead!

**Next Chapter Preview**

_A feeling of some force pushing hard into her chest washed over Farah as the jade light died. She was nearly sent sprawling backwards, but she felt the hard grip of the Prince own arm as he steadied her._

"_What is going on!?" he demanded as he lowered them both to the ground for better leverage. He curled over Farah, one hand thrown over her face to shield her from the sudden rapidly moving winds._

_From the gap between his arm and his chest, Farah lifted her head to look at Anthria. She stood perfectly straight, her chiton whipping at her legs, and seemingly untouched by the winds that howled around her._

"Anthria_!?"_ _she shouted, but knew instantly it was useless. Anthria's only concern now was killing Capetraion. "_Anthria"…

… "_I hate when that happens," the Prince muttered._

_She opened her eyes slowly, glancing around at their surroundings. A large, stone dais was in the center of the tower with stairs climbing the height of the tower around them. Only a quarter of the way up the stone stairs had been destroyed and a large, gaping hole separated the rest of the tower from the bottom._

"_Well, how do we get up?" Farah asked as pointed at the destruction. "I can't jump that."_

"_We can likely raise this platform," the Prince returned as he surveyed the climb. "Wait on it and I'll raise you up."_

"_And how do you plan to do that?" Farah demanded as she crossed her arms over her chest._


	16. Maze of the Abyss

**Disclaimer:** you know the drill

**Spoilers:** --- pointless

**Author's Notes:** w00t! This is one is on time! Like, oh my God! Is the world ending? Where are the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse? Not only that, but this is longer than average? What can be said?

Just enjoy! XD

* * *

_/Chapter Fifteen: Maze of the Abyss/_

**"While there irate Cyrus  
****Squanders a summer and the brawn of his heroes  
****To rebuke the horse-swallowing River Gyndes  
****He split it into three hundred and sixty trickles  
****A girl could wade without wetting her shin"  
**-Sylvia Plath, "A Lesson in Vengeance"

* * *

Anthria marched forward, her eyes narrowed and her body taut. Even with the world panicking around her, her eyes were locked on Captraion as he stared coolly at her. Even in the dull light her sword glinted with silver.

Soldiers rushed by the aging man and pressed on Anthria with a battle cry. Farah unhooked an arrow and notched it, but Anthria was not in need of her assistance. She sidestepped one soldier, quickly grabbed him by the scruff his collar while her leg shot around to trip the second soldier.

She brought her sword down across the soldier's back and even before his body had hit the ground she was whirling her other hand around to slide her sword across the second soldier's throat.

Farah's stomach rolled as she pulled herself closer to the Prince. The woman who had kidnapped her was back and she did not like it.

More blood was added to the stone ground as Anthria twisted and snapped her body in time to meet the soldiers that came at her. She moved with a deadly grace that had the terror of the crowd growing stronger by the moment.

"The gods have always favored you, Anthria," Capetraion wheezed as he backed up a step. Even though Anthria held murder in her eyes, Capetraion appeared undaunted and unafraid.

"You can give them my thanks when I send you to hell," Anthria told him and picked up speed, her sandals slapping against the cool stone. Capetraion merely raised an eyebrow at her words.

"But, you see, the gods have also blessed me." Capetraion lifted his arms to the sky, the jeweled top of his staff thrusting out into the air. Overhead the sky darkened with thick, gray clouds, formed seemingly out of nowhere.

The Prince gave Farah a look and she shuddered. Dark magick crinkled around her and a chill rushed up her spine as the black clouds twisted above them. She rushed up to Anthria, positioning her bow at Capetraion.

"No," Anthria hissed, lowering Farah's arm. She sent the dark-skinned princess a cool look. "No one kills Capetraion save me."

"Then you better go and do it!" the Prince snapped as he drew Farah closer to him. His face was taut with worry and a need for action. The clouds and the scent of magick in the air had him on edge. "I don't like this."

With a stiff nod, Anthria continued her approach toward Capetraion. Farah and the Prince followed at a distance, looking around for any signs of more soldiers. But there were none coming.

Magick was in the air and it scared everyone.

Everyone except Anthria. Perhaps it was because she had been in the presence of the gods for so long that it didn't affect her at all. She was well aware of the magick but it did not put her on edge. It was only an odd tinkling sensation at her temples.

Capetraion lowered his staff and pointed its encrusted tip at Anthria. "And now, my dear, I think we will play a bit, shall we? I've heard Hades cares little for your condition now."

Anthria lifted her sword up, every intention of bringing it down on the wizened old man before her. With a gentle swish of air, she brought the sword down fast. Farah turned her face away from the sight of it because, no matter how evil he was, Capetraion looked too weak and haggard to deserve such a fate.

But the jewel on Capetraion's staff erupted with power. A dark jade spark flowed out and over the land, faster than Farah could blink.

A feeling of some force pushing hard into her chest washed over Farah as the jade light did. She was nearly sent sprawling backwards, but she felt the hard grip of the Prince on her arm as he steadied her.

"What is going on!?" he demanded as he lowered them both to the ground for better leverage. He curled over Farah, one hand thrown over her face to shield her from the sudden rapidly moving winds.

From the gap between his arm and his chest, Farah lifted her head to look at Anthria. She stood perfectly straight, her chiton whipping at her legs, and seemingly untouched by the winds that howled around her.

"_Anthria!?"_ she shouted, but knew instantly it was useless. Anthria's only concern now was killing Capetraion. "_Anthria!_"

And then darkness descended upon them. Farah felt a sudden cold sweep through her and knew the Prince felt it as well when he began to tremble against her. When she expelled a frigid breath it hovered above her lips before disappearing into the air.

"What's going on?" she asked as her teeth chattered noisily together. She gripped the smooth fabric on the Prince's arms, trying to burrow into him to seek some form of warmth that his body still offered.

The Prince enfolded her more tightly in his arms, shaking from the cold just as she did. He held her tightly, trying to take the warmth just as he gave it. But he knew Farah was in worse shape than he, wearing a brief skirt and a thin belly-shirt. Absently, he streaked his hands down her arms for the warmth of friction.

Farah lifted herself from his arms, blinking in confusion. "What's going on?" she asked once more, finding now that her question held more weight than it had moments ago.

The landscape had changed so entirely that Farah wondered if Capetraion had used his magick to transport them to a new location.

It was still dark around them—or, rather, the sky above them had been completely blacked out—but somehow she could see everything around her. She and the Prince were in what looked like a garden. The kind she had read about in books. A garden that had been transformed into a maze, a labyrinth of twists and turns designed to trap trespassers in its width.

In front of them was a wide, tall tower with a tiny beacon of light at the top. Ivory climbed up the whole length of the tower, resting at the window from which the light shone.

"A trap?" the Prince wondered, but only to himself. He moved slightly down the maze they were in, touching the briars that grew out from the wall of plants.

From somewhere in the distance the voice of Capetraion flowed to them, "_Come to me, Anthria, if you can. I'm waiting for you at the top. And then we'll finish it._"

The Prince whirled and met Farah's eyes. They both blazed with an inferno of hate for the old man whose pale, weak body hid the evil inside.

"He's toying with her," the Prince snarled and turned back to face the tower. "_Bastard_."

"We must hurry," Farah said, increasing the tight grip on her bow. She shook her head to clear off the lingering traces of heavy magick. "And aid Anthria. If we can."

"Our best bet would be to head toward the tower, of course," the Prince mused, running his fingers once more over the briars. "But this is a maze. Perhaps it is just a trick? And there are many paths leading toward the tower. Which one is correct?"

"We don't have time for consideration!" Farah snapped, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice. "We must hurry and reach the tower to aid Anthria!"

"This is too familiar for my liking," the Prince muttered under his breath and merely shrugged when Farah sent him a look. "But, you're right, we need to hurry. We'll go down this path." He motioned to the second path that appeared on their right.

Without a word, Farah charged forward, already notching an arrow in preparation. As the Prince caught up with her, she called out to him, "That man, Capetraion, he used magick that resembles what the Grecian gods use. Do you think he might be able to call up those monsters as Hades does?"

The Prince glanced around, unsheathing his sword from its place on his back. "I don't know," the Prince answered but didn't like the feeling of being watched that crept over his skin. "But we had better be prepared."

Farah gave him a small, humorous smile that the Prince found himself returning. "I always am," she told him and they dived headlong into the maze.

--&--

Anthria was well aware she had been separated from Farah and the Prince. She had managed to glance over at the two as the darkness of Capetraion's spell had washed over them.

But other than that one glance she didn't give them much concern. Both Farah and the Prince were capable people and would no doubt come out of the spell unscathed. And, considering the strength in which they had clung to each other, they would find themselves together when the spell cleared.

She gave them no more thoughts.

Capetraion was, at least, within her grasp and nothing would stop her revenge that she had been thirsting for over forty-five years. And—by the gods—no debt or younglings would stop her.

Even now she felt the itch of her finger tips. They longed to plunge a sword into Capetraion's chest. And her body longed to smell his blood. Every part of her wanted to see him suffer as she had suffered.

It was no paranoid thinking that had his voice inside her head. Anthria knew that Capetraion worked magick now. The kind of magick that gifted her with longevity. The kind of magick that the gods wielded.

"Who favors you, Capetraion?" she wondered aloud, knowing that in some distant place where he rested he heard her every word. "Which god? Ares? Hades?"

Either Hades or Ares had to have chosen Capetraion as their servant. She dreaded to think that he had been working for Hades the same time she had been—for that would be the worse betrayal the god of death could have ever given her.

The magick had smelt and felt like a combination of both Ares and Hades, but she couldn't tell which trace of magick was older and stronger. Capetraion was working to keep her confused because he knew that would bother her the most.

"It matters not. Today you die," she said to herself and to him.

Above her, the tower she was in spiraled. Long, twisting stairs lead to the top of the tower and she knew that Capetraion awaited her there.

Just as she knew that when Farah and the Prince entered the tower—if they entered the tower—it would be different for them.

Capetraion's magick designed the tower to be different for each person who entered it. For Anthria, it was long spiraling stairs because Capetraion wanted her to come. They were on his turf now, he had confidence that he would win the fight between them. What Capetraion didn't understand was the sheer force of will that had driven Anthria all these years.

_"I'm waiting for you, Anthria,"_ Capetraion's ghostly voice whispering against her ear. _"Come, if you wish to see me dead."_

And she would. She swore that to her son, to her mother and to her father. Unsheathing her sword, she raced up the winding stairs to the man who awaited her.

--&--

Farah bit her lip hard as her shoulder scraped roughly against a briar. The Prince, ahead of her, glanced in all directions every so often, looking for a path that could possibly take them closer to the tower in front of them.

"We've been this way before," Farah said with a deep sigh, rubbing the irritated spot on her shoulder.

"No, we certainly haven't," the Prince snapped in return. He turned and narrowed his eyes at her. "It just all _looks the same_." He reached out and closed a fist in rage over one of the briars.

"Well then, if it all looks the same, how do you know that we haven't been here before?"

"Look," the Prince snapped, throwing a hand out toward the tower that loomed in the distance. "We're getting closer, aren't we?"

With a frown, Farah narrowed her eyes at the tower. "It's impossible to tell."

"We are getting closer," the Prince muttered and turned another corner, heading straight toward the tower. "This maze isn't hard to figure out. Every other turn on the left side, then the right, brings us closer."

She had noticed that too, but she wasn't about to admit it. "How close to you think Anthria is?"

"Likely she's there already," the Prince answered with a casual shrug. "But she can handle herself. I just want to be there when Capetraion shows his face."

Farah nodded and then blinked. "Look, a shortcut!"

"What?"

Without giving him another word she dived into a tiny crack in the wall of foliage and rolled to dodge the briars. She felt their sting as they cut her face and her legs, but the pain was only momentary.

"How is this a shortcut?" the Prince demanded as he followed her lead, wiping at the blood that pooled on the slice across his cheek. Farah was bleeding as well, but she made no move to wipe it away.

"Look," Farah said smugly as she lifted her bow to motion to the tower that was now only a few yards away. "We have a straight path to the tower now."

The Prince frowned as he saw that indeed the path they were on led directly to the tower. "But we were miles away from it over there. How can we be so close now?"

"This world is dictated by magick," Farah replied with a lift of her chin. "Common laws of nature obviously do not affect it."

At her tone the Prince rolled his eyes. "Yes, well, let's continue. No telling how far ahead of us Anthria is."

Laughter bubbled up from her throat when Farah realized that the Prince was embarrassed. With a glare, the Prince raced toward the tower. Farah shook her head and followed him.

The door to the tower was already ajar when Farah and the Prince reached the stone steps leading to it. They glanced at each other and nodded, barreling into the open door.

Farah felt another chilling wave wash over her and the world grew dark once more. She felt a twist in the air around her, like the world was being torn asunder by dark magick. She stumbled forward.

"I hate when that happens," the Prince muttered.

She opened her eyes slowly, glancing around at their surroundings. A large, stone dais was in the center of the tower with stairs climbing the height of the tower around them. Only a quarter of the way up the stone stairs had been destroyed and a large, gaping hole separated the rest of the tower from the bottom(1).

"Well, how do we get up?" Farah asked as pointed at the destruction. "I can't jump that."

"We can likely raise this platform," the Prince returned as he surveyed the climb. "Wait on it and I'll raise you up."

"And how do you plan to do that?" Farah demanded as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Trust me."

With a sigh Farah stomped over to the platform and waited, watching the Prince run up the circling stairs, his destination impeded by the large gap. He judged the length of the opening and then glanced down at Farah. His green gaze was cast upward for a moment and then he backed up.

"What are you—" she started to accuse but quickly lost her voice when the Prince leapt, throwing his legs out to gain momentum in the air. She slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming as his fingers closed over the stone ledge and he dangled in the air.

The Prince swung his body upward and managed to flip himself onto the stairs. He lifted a hand in Farah's direction to show her that he was unharmed. He leaned over the side of the stairs and pointed to the rope that hung in the center of the tower.

"I'm going to jump onto the rope, climb up and raise the platform for you!" he shouted down to her, motioning the actions with his hands.

"Are you mad!?" she shouted back, her eyes widening as she judged the distance of his jumps for herself. "You'll get yourself killed!"

"Well, I could always just leave you there!"

"No. No! Just be careful!" If the Prince heard her he made no notion as he turned away from the side of the stairs.

With a small huff of breath, he raced to the wall and used his speed and grace to climb the smooth, flat surface. When he was nearly four feet off the ground he pressed his hand into the wall and pushed himself into the air, hand already outstretched for the rope.

He managed to catch it and was sent swinging hard to the wall on the opposite side. His feet cushioned his crash and he pushed himself outward, swinging a few more times before he managed to still the swinging. With a grunt of exertion he started to climb the rope.

Farah watched him in amazement. She felt slightly useless at only being able to watch as the Prince struggled to help her, but she was more concerned with the grace of his movements and the ease with which he had managed to complete all these seemingly impossible tasks.

And why did it all seem so familiar?

_"You know I can't climb like you can."_

_"Stay there." _

Watching as he swings and climbs and reaches out for the lever that will lower the platform for her so she can join him on the top.

_  
Swinging. _

_Climbing._

The memory nearly forced her to loss consciousness but she managed to cling to her wakefulness. She forced her eyes to remain on the Prince's small figure as he lifted himself to the top of the tower so he could wedge his shoulder against the button on the top of the ceiling.

There was a hum of wheels and Farah nearly lost her balance as the platform began a slowly move upward. The Prince continued to dangle from the rope landing beside her softly when the platform reached his position.

"Well," she greeted him. "You certainly have some skill."

"Thank you," the Prince returned, his voice oozing sarcasm that had Farah's back straightening.

With a small glare at him, she motioned to the hallway before them. "Shall we?" She took the lead to give the Prince time to catch his breath from his stellar climb.

The hallway they slowly inched down was pitch black and nearly impossible to see. Farah felt the skin on the back of her neck crawl as she was seeped in thick magick. Beside her, the Prince was tense and poised for action.

"There is a lot of magick here," the Prince pointed out, his voice low and oddly frightening in the thick silence. "We must be getting close."

Farah halted when the tip of her bow touched something solid and hard. "There's something here," she told the Prince as her hand reached out and grasped smooth, metallic bars.

"A gate," the Prince said. "And these damn bars are too narrow for me to slip through… but maybe you could…?"

Biting her lip, Farah turned sideways, sticking her bow into the next room. Her body heaved with pain as the bars squeezed her back and front. Gritting her teeth in concentration, Farah sucked in as much breath as she could and pushed herself through the narrow opening in the gate.

She hit the ground hard, her bow flying out of her hand. Cursing, she scrambled to her knees and groped in the darkness for the smooth ivory of her weapon.

"Farah?" the Prince called, his voice thick with concern. Farah reached out for his voice in the darkness and caught the hand he had put through the gate with her own. "Can you see if you can find a lever or something to open the gate?"

Keeping a grip on his hand, Farah slid herself against the gate and then the wall, regretting it when she was forced to let go of the Prince's hand. But then she remembered how he had climbed the tower to help her and kept going.

In the darkness it was nearly impossible to tell what she was touching, but Farah thought she would recognize a lever as soon as she touched it.

"If you don't mind…" the Prince drawled.

"This isn't easy!" she snapped. "I don't want to fall to my doom or stumble upon a trap in this blasted darkness. So why don't you—oh!"

"What?"

Without answering him, Farah closed her hand over the metallic lever positioned upward on the wall. Forcing all her weight into her arms, she yanked the lever down.

Once more, her ears were greeted with the metallic hum of machines, but then there was only stark silence.

Then the lights burst on.

Cursing, Farah thrust a hand out to cover her eyes as the room grew in brightness. Opening her eyes slowly, she adjusted herself to the sudden light and surveyed her surroundings.

The room she had wiggled herself into was host to two hallways, one directly beside the lever Farah had pulled and the other in the opposite direction of the gate. Farah wasn't sure which one she should take but the light that burned from the hallways in front of her was much more pleasing than the one beside the lever.

Her bow rested in the center of the hallway, its ivory reflected the glint of the almost oppressive light.

But other than the archways and her bow, the room was empty.

"There doesn't seem to be a way to open that gate," Farah told the Prince as he gave a frustrated groan.

"Isn't that always the case?" he asked himself softly and the glanced at Farah. "There's another path beside me. I'll take it and see if I can find another way around. Wait there."

"What?" she called but the Prince was already gone, disappearing to the gate's right. She raced up to the bars, but couldn't see where he had gone. "Wait!"

She nearly kicked the gate for good measure when she heard the growl. Gasping, she spun around and raced to the gate beside the lever. Five of Ares's minions were moving sluggishly from the archway.

The first creature swiped at her. She hissed and pivoted to the side, landing hard on her hip. She rolled, using her momentum to slide over to her bow. Her fingers wrapped around the handle, coming up to aim even as her body struggled to catch up.

Instinctively, she notched an arrow and let it fly. It caught the shoulder of a creature and the foe jerked back, but did little else to slow it down.

Farah cursed and turned, racing for the last archway to escape the monstrous creatures.

--&--

The Prince didn't like the idea of leaving Farah to her own means while he attempted to find a way to her position, but the said position had given him little choice.

He just hoped the Farah managed to keep herself out of trouble until he managed to reach her.

The hallway he stormed down opened and gave way to a deep chasm that spiraled into a black abyss. Lights glowed from the corners of the walls and cast an eerie glow on the rocks and stones as they disappeared down into the darkness.

"Perfect," he muttered to himself. "Absolutely perfect."

This mess was beginning to resemble Azad too much for his liking. The separation from Farah, the obstacles to reach the goal, and a deep sense of fear that something was going wrong somewhere else.

The situation, he knew, could have been worse. There was no sign of any monsters or enemies, despite the apparent vastness of the tower and the stench of magick that polluted the air.

All the Prince wanted to do was find his way back to Farah, locate Anthria, and see this journey over and done with. He didn't have time for Anthria's revenge and he thought she would have seen it the same way.

Obviously, such was not the case. There had been obsession in her eyes. A deep, cold obsession that put the Prince on edge. Anthria seemed so cold and hard and distant that it made the Prince think of enemies and sand monsters.

The Prince pressed his feet against the edge of the precipice he stood on and slowly inched his way across the chasm, toward the opposite ledge. His acrobatic skills kept him well balanced and merely sliding along a wall was no problem to someone of his skill.

He brushed dirt off from his pants and glanced down the hallway connected to the new ledge he stood on, debating with himself if he should go down the hallway or try for the next ledge to the right and above him.

The decision, however, was made for him.

Familiar growls of the monsters he had fought before reached his ears. He glanced up at the ledge above him just in time to see Farah come barreling onto it, the minions of Ares hot on her heels.

"_Farah_!"

The dark-haired beauty skidded to a halt in front of the ledge, nearly falling off for a brief, heart-stopping moment. She grabbed her bow and released an arrow right into the face of the snarling monster.

Eyes desperate for escape, the Prince looked for a way to reach her. His attention was brought to another rope dangling from the top of the tower, sliding deep into the chasm. He considered briefly jumping to the rope and swinging himself to Farah's position when Farah gave a yelp of pain.

"Farah! Jump to the rope!" As Farah used her bow as a weapon to push a monster off her, she glanced in the direction the Prince pointed at. Sweat pooled on her brow but she nodded down to him, turning away from her enemies and leaping without a second thought.

For over five seconds, the Prince's heart stopped beating. His breath caught in his lungs as he watched Farah go sailing into the dark abyss below them. Whatever voice he might have used to call out to her was lost in the panic of his mind.

Then Farah tangled her arm around the thick rope and her body jerked as it was saved from gravity. The Prince heard her yelp of pain but was too relieved to worry about the rope burn that stung her hands.

"Are you alright?" he demanded as she hooked her legs around the rope and busted herself up an inch.

"Isn't that a pointless question?" she shouted back.

The monsters snarled in irritation as they swiped useless claws at the air in front of Farah. She slid a bit down the rope.

"I can't hold on!"

He glanced around, his eyes surveying the chasm. The wall opposite him was uneven with rocks and tiny alcoves he could use to gain his footing with. And, glancing up, he saw the dim glow of light from a possible ledge.

"Farah," he called gently, trying to keep his voice calm to save her from fear. "Farah, I need you to let go of the rope when I say so."

"Let go?" she demanded, her voice hitching as she slid another inch. "Now I know you're mad."

"You're going to have to trust me!"

There was a long pause and Farah was as still as she could be while dangling on the rope. The Prince heard her draw in a deep breath and he prayed with all his might that she had sense enough to listen.

"A—all right. Say when."

Expelling the breath he didn't realize he had been holding the Prince took several steps backward, stretching his legs. On a second thought, he brought the Dagger of Time out from its sheath on his waist and touched its silver handle.

If he missed or something went wrong he would use it without a second thought. He just prayed it held sand enough within its core to work a rewind if it came to that.

It wouldn't have been the first time it had failed him.

Looking at Farah's slim and vulnerable body, the Prince fought down the flashes from the time that no longer existed. He also fought down the overwhelming sickness that swarmed his stomach, brought on by the traitorous thought of _if I miss…_

But he wouldn't miss. Not when Farah's life hung in the balance.

His feet slapped hard at the ground as he picked up momentum. He had to time this just right and he had to angle his body enough so he could have some form of leverage when he crashed into the other side.

Just as he leapt of the ledge he shouted as loud as he could, "Now!"

Instantly, Farah dropped, her body angling for the dark chasm below. She didn't scream out in terror, though she squeezed her eyes closed as sharply as she could.

The Prince crashed into her, his arm hooking around her waist. But he had gained enough momentum to continue onward. Farah's back hit the opposite wall hard and she gripped his shoulders to keep from sliding down and into the dark.

He dug the Dagger of Time into the rock wall, pressing his feet onto the rocks below him, gritting his teeth as he struggled to keep his grip on the wall. Farah was halfway over his shoulder and unable to turn around in his arms to help him gain leverage.

"Hang onto me!" he commanded as the sweat from his palm caused his fingers to lose their grip on the Dagger of Time.

Farah's legs wrapped around his waist and she gripped his shoulders, freeing his hand so he could grip the rocky wall.

"You can't lift us up with the dagger," Farah said against his ear. "I'll hold it."

There was a moment of hesitation from the Prince. He couldn't help it. He remembered the last time Farah had taken his Dagger. And he remembered what had come of it with a wave of pain.

_Her death. His pain. The big rewind. The bitterness of being erased and the changes within him._

"Prince!"

He shook his head. Trusting Farah had always been his problem, even when all she wanted to do was fix his mistakes. And because he didn't trust her everything that had become important to him was erased.

"Alright," the Prince agreed and moved his hand off the Dagger, instead gripping another sharp rock. Farah yanked it from the wall and slid it into her belt.

Very slowly, inch-by-inch, he brought them up. His hands were raw and bleeding from the skin that had been scrapped away from the rocks but he never uttered a single protest or moan of pain as he scaled the steep surface.

"We're almost there," Farah breathed. "A few more inches and I can reach the ledge."

With the last of his strength, the Prince boosted himself up another few inches and Farah managed to twist herself around and grip the edge. Using only her arms, Farah struggled to pull herself up without injuring the Prince.

As she gave a small groan of exertion, Farah swung herself up onto the ledge. The loss of her weight nearly caused the Prince to lose his grip. He clung to the ledge, breathing shallow as he lost all his strength.

Farah edged her upper torso towards him and grabbed his shoulders. "Help me!" she wheezed as she gritted her teeth, boosting herself to her knees to give herself more power to lift him up.

The Prince wasn't of much use in helping Farah, but he managed to use his feet to help her pull him over the ledge. He collapsed onto the ground, panting for breath, as Farah curled against his side, pressing a hand into her stomach.

"Are you alright?" she gasped as she crawled closer, using her shaking arms to hover herself above him.

Absently, the Prince reached out and stroked a thumb across her cheek. "Fine. Thank you."

She reached down to her belt and withdrew the Dagger. She pressed it into his palm and managed a shaky smile.

"Farah—" he began.

"Look!" Farah said suddenly, her eyes brought to the hallway before them. "Anthria!"

He tilted his head backwards and saw that yet another gate bared their path, but it wasn't dark. In fact, it burned brightly through the gate.

And he looked up just in time to see the swish of Anthria's chiton as she walked calmly past the gate, her swords unsheathed and her face passive.

A second wind raced through him as Anthria disappeared from view.

"C'mon!" he shouted as he helped Farah to her feet. "We're almost there!"

**

* * *

Story Note(s)**

(1) not really a note on actual history/mythology, per say, but in case Farah and the Prince's ordeal seemed to resemble closely what happened in SoT, well… it should! It's supposed to reflect mostly something that the Prince and Farah might have stumbled on while traversing through Azad. I thought it would just be fun have Farah struck with a weird feeling of déjà vu and the Prince knowing exactly what it resembled.

**reviews**

**Specter Von Baron:** ah, no worries! You're doing a better job that I woulda…

**Rexnos:** wow, I _can't_ flame. I'm much too nice a person (insert my brother and sister's snicker here). I'm always real careful with my use of OCs. Sometimes they really help get a plot going, but I don't like the idea that they're to just service the plot, you know? If they can't have their own purpose and their goals, while meshing with the story, then they don't get to be in the story. Someone once told me that _all_ characters (original in the fandom or not) are Mary-Sues. I laughed and laughed and laughed. Mary-Sues are _easy_ to avoid having. The first step is to not worry about whose pants she's getting in.

**Black-Phoenix10:** hopefully, the update schedule I've made for myself will keep. But I'm not making any promises.

**bluetinkerbell:** I'm glad you're liking Anthria. Originally, she wasn't supposed to be likable at all. Ah, but the fanfic is still young and I think it's possible that I could change your mind in the next… two chapters.

**AznPuffyHair:** it's actually Scourge _from_ Sparta, since that's where Anthria originally hails from. She made quite a name for herself during the Messenian War, and then she never aged… people fear what they can't understand. XD

**Sakura123:** ah, yes. Believe or not, I love that little girl Anthria met in the market. If I could've worked it, I would've given her a bigger part in the story… but, alas, some things are not meant to be. And Anthria's key weakness (or her biggest, at least) is that she lets her thirst for revenge take her away from what's important. Very _Count of Monte Cristo_ in that aspect (Edmond Dantes inspired bits and pieces of Anthria's characterization). On T2T, I found it lacking. I was really hoping for a return to SoT, but it was certainly better than WW all battle systems aside. But Farah confused me, as much as I was glad to her back in the game. I was, through the course of the game, "WTF? You're _Southern_!?" Seriously, sometimes she sounded like she was from Alabama or Georgia or something. Made me laugh and cry.

**OliveraT:** I've been waiting to introduce Capetraion (on a side note I've gotten into the habit of pronouncing it like this: _Cap-et-tree-on_ but I'm probably saying it wrong) since I think he is a perfect foe for Anthria, despite his frailty and the sheer strength of Anthria's character. And don't worry about the Prince and Farah!

**Tamarind dinni:** glad you liked, and sorry about the updates (or lack thereof) but hopefully, I can keep with my new schedule.

**Wingéd Demon VM:** yes, action is actually very prominent from here right up to the climatic final battle, with only very short breaks at certain intervals. And I have a schedule! (if that comforts you in anyway…)

**Next Chapter Preview**

_When the Prince reached out for her again, Anthria whirled and placed the top of her sword against his throat, her eyes dark and dangerous in her. "Do not interfere with this or I'll cut you down."_

_But the Prince's hand had already grabbed the hilt of his own sword strapped across his back. Farah could tell by the heat in his eyes that he was debating on whether to attempt to forcefully stop her or leave her be. _

_She approached them with some idea of halting the violence around her. Farah knew that if it came to a fight she would be on the Prince's side, but she didn't like the idea of Anthria of betraying them. Anthria had proven to be a useful ally. _

_"Anthria… you have an amazing talent for keeping friends," Capetraion drawled absently, leaning his chin down into his palm and defusing the situation between the Prince and Anthria… _

_…_ _At the back of the room a tall statue almost seemed to glow. _

_"This way," Anthria told them and took a step toward the statue. "Brace yourself." _

_"What?" the Prince demanded instantly, hand shooting out to lock around Farah's. "Why?" _

_Instantly, they felt it. A magickal tug. Not dizzying like Capetraion's had been. It was smoother, kinder almost, but all the same rather unsettling as it slid like silk and spider webs over their skin. _

_"What's going on?" Farah demanded. _

_Before anyone could speak, if anyone was going to speak, another presence swept into the room. _


	17. Temple of Athena

**Disclaimer:** second verse, same as the first

**Spoilers:** hereby rendered pointless

**Author's Notes:** yeah, so… this is a _little_ late. A little. Not a lot. But, guys, look on the bright side. We're nearing the end of this story and it's summer time! I get out next week so I have more time for updates. Joy and/or rapture! Celebrate the good times.

C'mon, everybody. Celebrate. Good times.

* * *

_/Chapter Sixteen: Temple of Athena/_

"**She that had no need of me,  
****Is a little lonely child  
****Lost in Hell,—Persephone  
****Take her head upon your knee:  
****Say to her, "My dear, my dear,  
****It is not so dreadful here"  
**-Edna St. Vincent Millay, "Prayer to Persephone"

* * *

The Prince and Farah came to a halt in front of the gate, the Prince raised his eyebrow questioningly at her.

"Can you open it?"

She sent him a look, glancing around for a way to open the door. A crack cut across the wall beside the door, a slim, lightning-shaped opening. "I'll try."

The room she wiggled herself into was brightly lit with thousands of tiny candle's lighting the gold encrusted on the wall. Anthria had disappeared into the archway on the left, paying nothing any mind, but Farah found herself taking pause to look at the beautifully emblazoned room.

"_Farah_!" the Prince hissed from his position behind the gate reminding Farah of her situation.

The lever she needed was just beside the gate, glinting gold in the bright light. She yanked on it as hard as she could praying that this time the gate would slide open. She didn't want to separate from the Prince again.

The gate barring the Prince's path slid slowly open and the Prince slid under it, nodding to Farah as he brushed off his pants. He glanced around the room, taking in the sight as she had, but the Prince was more concerned with joining Anthria.

"C'mon!" He grabbed her arm and they raced after their blonde companion.

As they exited the hallway, they found themselves in another brightly lit room. The walls were painted and decorated in intricate gold carvings and brilliant tapestries hung from the walls, depicting scenes from Grecian culture.

Capetraion was in the back of the room, ascended on a small dais covered in an elegant red cloth. Raised on the dais was a throne made of pure, solid gold and the light seemed to collect around him.

Anthria was walking calmly toward him, a sword already in her hand. Capetraion had his head inclined sideways, watching her casually, as if the very threat of her wasn't a threat at all, not to him.

It made Farah nervous. If Anthria had been coming after _her_, Farah would have been worried.

So what ace did Capetraion have up his sleeve?

For her part, Anthria didn't seem to care. She was concentrated solely on reaching Capetraion and wiping him from existence. And from what Farah had seen that didn't seem like a bad idea, but the entire thing threw her off.

The Prince ran up and grabbed Anthria elbow, promptly halting her approach. "This is no time for personal vendettas!" he hissed to her. Anthria merely shrugged him off and took another step forward.

When the Prince reached out for her again, Anthria whirled and placed the tip of her sword against his throat, her eyes dark and dangerous in her. "Do not interfere with this or I'll cut you down."

But the Prince's hand had already grabbed the hilt of his own sword strapped across his back. Farah could tell by the heat in his eyes that he was debating on whether to attempt to forcefully stop her or not.

She approached them with some idea of halting the violence around her. Farah knew that if it came to a fight she would be on the Prince's side, but she didn't like the idea of Anthria betraying them. Anthria had proven to be a useful ally.

"Anthria… you have an amazing talent for keeping friends," Capetraion drawled absently, leaning his chin down into his palm and defusing the situation between the Prince and Anthria.

Forgetting about the Prince, Anthria faced the aging man before her. "Capetraion, who gave you those powers? You did not have them last time we met."

"Last time was… _many_ years ago, Anthria. Things change. I change." A feral grin came across his face, a grin that made the wrinkles in his face pinch upward. "Hades and Ares need someone to stay here and look after their affairs while they are off conquering Asia Minor."

"So that is why Hades—"

"Betrayed you?" Capetraion cut in, still smiling hideously. "Yes. I'm a more useful ally than you are, Anthria. I'm not driven by my petty hate."

"I should have killed you when I had the chance." With a deadly calm face Anthria withdrew her second sword. "But this is a mistake I have come to correct."

"Oh?" Capetraion questioned, yawning slightly.

The jaw muscles in Anthria's mouth cracked. "Yes. You're a monster."

"Did you know your son," Capetraion went on as if Anthria had never spoken, flickering his fingers out. "Squealed like a stuck-pig when they strung him up? And your woman-father could do nothing but lay on his bed prone while the soldiers raped his wife, your mother? At least I was not bred weak and did not breed such weakness."

Anthria said nothing and Farah found herself unable to say anything passed her overwhelming disgust for the man. The Prince's hand clenched and unclenched on his sword, as if debating with himself on what he wanted to do. Get to the temple or help Anthria wipe this man out of existence.

As for Anthria, it was no contest. She lunged without so much as a battle cry, arms arched for a deadly swing. Farah grabbed the Prince's arm just as Anthria reached Capetraion and she wasn't sure if she wanted to avert her eyes from the surely gruesome sight of an old man losing his head.

However, she never did find out.

Out of nowhere came Capetraion's staff. It glowed bright white for a moment and Anthria's attack was easily deflected. She twisted in mid-air and landed hard on her side in front of Capetraion.

"You'll never be able to kill me, Anthria. _Never_." With a laugh Capetraion thrust his staff into the air, a small vortex of black surrounded him. "Now I convene with my masters and tell them of your sheer determination… and foolishness."

Then he was gone.

"Monsters!" Farah shrieked, her fingers already notching an arrow as the deadly animals rose from the ground. She released an arrow and it zipped through the air, landing in a monster's chest.

Rage burned clearly in Anthria's eyes as she kicked herself to her feet. She leaped ahead of the Prince and brought her swords down on the first creature she could find, then twisted her body backward and went after the next one.

Farah and the Prince shared a secret look before she notched another arrow and he went to join in the fray.

It wasn't hard to take them down this time. Anthria was driven by an unholy, unstoppable rage that had her hacking through limbs and necks like a butcher. And the Prince was able to take his fair share down with Farah's cover fire.

The battle lasted all of five minutes, maybe.

And the heaving of Anthria's chest said it wasn't nearly enough.

"Are you alright?" the Prince asked Farah suddenly, sheathing his sword before wiping at the sweat that formed on his brow. "Farah?"

"Fine," she answered lightly and approached the blonde-haired woman. Tentatively, she placed a hand on her shoulder. "Anthria?"

Anthria jerked her shoulder free. "Don't touch me," she snarled and tightened her hands on her swords. They were already white-knuckled and numb from the pressure but she couldn't stop the heat burning up her throat.

The Prince came up to Farah's side, sliding his hand down to grip Farah's. Farah blinked at him, gnawed at her lip, and didn't pull away.

Those dark onyx eyes slid over to observe the Prince and Farah. Then she turned away. "I will kill him. Nothing will stop me. Not a debt, not a deal, _nothing_. That man… he took everything from me."

For a moment, the Prince looked ready to protest Anthria's words. Then he frowned and decided to remain quiet.

"We need to go to the temple," Farah spoke up and suddenly a wave of heat washed over her belly. She gripped it and moaned, the pain in her abdomen welling up.

"The spell is breaking," Anthria observed casually, seemingly unaffected by the magic. She didn't even bother glancing at the Prince and Farah to see if they were all right as the world shifted around them.

Of course, there wasn't much she could do if she _had_ turned to look at their discomfort. The Prince pulled Farah against his side, struggling to keep his balance. Farah's arms left her stomach and moved to wrap around his neck. And they held each other as the world tilted around them.

Around them the world seemed to be fading and reforming. The ceiling became gray for a spilt second, and then for a second longer. The air grew crisp and the gold faded with the gray light.

Then they were back on the Athenian palace stairs, glancing up at the squat, marble building that had, moments before, been a maze of peril, controlled by a madman well-endowed with magick.

Coughing, the Prince released Farah from his grasp and dared to glance down at her, trying to gauge her emotions at their sudden contact. Of course, they had been touching their entire time in the maze, but that was utterly different. They had no choice there. The Prince was well aware of that.

Unfortunately, Farah did not look up at him.

"The temple is this way," Anthria said, turning to descend the stairs. She brushed passed both Farah and the Prince without so much as a second glance. Farah realized just how cold she was now. Much like she had been when she had been Farah's kidnapper.

"But don't we need to collect our things from the inn?" the Prince asked, the new frown on his face saying that he noticed the change in their companion as well.

"No," Anthria answered and a self-mocking smile covered her lips. "Besides, that woman wouldn't let us into the inn, anyway. Now that they know who _I_ am."

With a small little sigh, Farah remembered the panic Capetraion had created amongst the Athenian residents when he had revealed who Anthria really was. As it was, not a single soul haunted the Athenian streets. It looked more like a ghost down than a thriving trading city.

Was that really Anthria's fault?

"Let's go," Anthria snapped and sent them a look over her shoulder. "We need to collect that weapon from Athena and go after Hades and Ares. I want to get out of this city as fast as possible."

_And find Capetraion_, but those words went unspoken.

Wordlessly, they followed. Farah felt her breath puff out lightly from her heaving chest and she was left to wonder if that was merely the affect of the magick. She didn't dare raise a question and ask because it appeared as if Anthria was likely to cut off the head of the next person who asked her anything.

The Temple of Athena(1) was located on a hill that overlooked the Saronic Gulf. Lush green grass rolled along the gray morning, collecting dew. The pale, white columns towered into the air, arching over the large doorway. Stone steps, also white, seemed to glow almost invitingly up toward the entrance.

But, at the same time, it appeared to be almost dull with neglect. The pillars were tarnished and the statue of—what Farah could only assume—Athena had turned green with age, discoloring its lovely bronze.

"It appears as if no one is here," the Prince said, voicing Farah's thoughts as they started up the stairs toward the temple.

"It has not been inhabited since I last visited Athens," Anthria answered and caused a little jump of warning to beat in Farah's stomach.

"And why is that?" she asked.

Saying nothing, Anthria walked up the stairs, her sandals clicking against the smooth stone. The Prince gave Farah a slightly irritated look before racing after her. Gnawing on her lip, she withdrew her bow and notched an arrow.

"You won't need that," Anthria told Farah as she caught up with the group. They stood at the threshold, looking into the long hallway, filtered with gray light.

"Why?"

"Athena is the goddess of wisdom(2)," Anthria answered, taking a deep breath. "And her virgins do not believe in violence(3)."

Still Farah kept her bow and arrow at the ready as Anthria lead them over the high, powerful threshold. Cold air rushed across Farah's arms as she shivered, tightening her hold on the ivory of her bow. It was merely another long hallway under an arching ceiling, held by spiraling column. There were doors behind certain columns, but they looked as if they had not been opened in many years.

At the back of the room a tall statue almost seemed to glow.

"This way," Anthria told them and took a step toward the statue. "Brace yourself."

"What?" the Prince demanded instantly, hand shooting out to lock around Farah's. "Why?"

Instantly, they felt it. A magickal tug. Not dizzying like Capetraion's had been. It was smoother, kinder almost, but all the same rather unsettling as it slid like silk and spider webs over their skin.

"What's going on?" Farah demanded.

Before anyone could speak, if anyone was going to speak, another presence swept into the room.

She was a young girl, no more than eight or nine, and tiny for her age. Her long, blonde hair was coiled on top of her head and her face was still chubby with baby fat. A crown of laurel wreaths was woven into her hair, the green giving the bright blonde an earthy look. A chiton of pure white swished down to her ankles and seemed to float across her ghostly body, her pallor was surely rosy and peach, but in the light it was dull and gray.

A smile was upon her lips, but she seemed unaware of Anthria, Farah, and the Prince as she glided past them. Her palms were cupped around a bowl that burned with incense, the dark smoke floating into the air before disappearing..

"Little girl—" the Prince began, reaching out to touch the girl's shoulder.

Automatically, Anthria wrapped her hand around his wrist. "Don't bother," she commanded, retracting the Prince's hand. "She can't hear or feel you."

"What?"

But the girl was now moving, her chiton brushing the floor with her elegant movements. She was headed toward the back of the temple, toward the golden, glowing statue.

"Follow her," she told them and rushed after the girl, carefully keeping herself behind her. Farah and the Prince followed wearily, glancing at each other as Anthria frowned at the girl.

The girl led them straight to the statue. A stony faced woman in a long chiton and a breastplate. She had a helmet upon her head and her coils of hair stuck out from beneath it. A long staff was held loftily between her fingers as she stared at the entrance of her temple.

"Guess that's Athena," the Prince surmised.

Unaware of them the girl bent down, her dress fluttering about her like angel's wings. The bowl of incense was placed right at Athena's feet and the girl backed an inch away. Her hands pressed together lightly, giving a semblance of prayer. Her lips turned down as she glanced up at the statue.

"Goddess Athena," the girl said in a voice that was much too regal to belong to an eight-year-old. "Watch over your people. Guide them and protect them. Hear the prayers of your humble servant. Watch over us, Athena."

"Who is she? What is she doing?" Farah demanded to know, tempted to fling herself forward to just see if she could grab the girl's attention. There was a hot ball of pain in her stomach, something that told her this was not right.

"She is praying for Athens," Anthria answered coolly as she touched the hilt of the sword on her back lightly. "That is what the wards of Athens do."

"This little girl? Is a ward?" the Prince breathed, not liking it. "It's a heavy duty, is it not?"

"They are chosen at birth by the Oracle and are taken here to serve Athena throughout the rest of their days, never leaving the city, always praying and guiding the people as Athena dictates to them." Anthria lifted her darkening eyes to them. "Athena does not show herself to many people, but she is fond of the virgins who care for her temple. And so she speaks through them, using their mouths for her purposes."

"But she's so young!" Farah protested. "How can they take a baby from its home and force it to live here as a ward to a statue? This girl is just a child."

Anthria circled the girl, coming to stand in front of the statue as the girl continued her prayers. For a long, hard moment Anthria merely stared down at her. She looked old now, older than she ever had before. It was her eyes, they seemed to age the rest of her body.

"This girl," Anthria said in the softest voice she had ever spoken before. "This girl would have been the High Priestess of the Temple of Athena."

The girl stood suddenly, brushing her white chiton. It appeared for a moment, but only a moment, as if the girl was looking at Anthria. Then she smiled brightly and turned. She walked right through Farah and the Prince and disappeared as they jumped away.

"If I hadn't killed her," Anthria added.

The air changed almost instantly. Farah shivered with the chill that rose fast and hard across her skin. She noted that the Prince's hand had almost instantly shot to the hilt of his sword, the fogging of the atmosphere raising his fighting instincts.

He motioned Farah over with a sweep of his arm. Despite her sudden anxiety she felt herself bristle at being commanded so casually. Her eyes narrowed at him as she dug her heels into the ground. The Prince gave a sigh of exasperation, as if he had done this many times before.

It didn't improve Farah's disposition.

But the scene started to happen all at once. Farah clamped down on a scream of fear as two soldiers, both looking as if they had been buried in the earth for a long period of time, rushed in.

Held between them was the little girl, her head bowed and her dress bloodied and her golden hair falling like a curtain over her face.

"What—" the Prince began and glanced at Anthria. Something he saw in her eyes caused him to shut his mouth.

Then a dark-haired man walked in, passing through Farah's body as if she didn't exist. He was tall and long and, even dulled with gray, seemed to be made of some kind of awesome power.

"Hades," Anthria told them and the Prince tensed visibly. This was the true enemy.

Suddenly, Anthria appeared behind Hades. She looked exactly the same as her twin standing opposite from her, except her skin had the same ghostly pallor as the girl and Hades. She was colder too, much like she had been with Capetraion.

The soldiers bodily dropped the girl at the foot of Athena. The bowl of incense, now done with its burning, went sliding across the floor. The real Anthria moved from her position as representation of Hades and a past Anthria took her place.

"Where is my niece?" Hades asked the girl, his handsome face leering down at her.

Shakily, the girl pushed herself up on her arms, lifting her bright head. Her eyes were carefully guarded and controlled and she again looked too old for the eight-year-old that she was.

"Who protects this city now?" Hades went on, still leering. He bent down and flicked a finger cross her chin. "Tell me, O High Priestess. Why can you not summon down your goddess?"

The girl was silent and she seemed to disregard Hades immediately. Instead, her eyes zeroed in on Anthria.

"I don't often like to kill people before their times," Hades mused, his handsome face smiling. "But I need to send a message to my brother. I will _not_ be toyed. I mean what I say. This is my time now."

Again the girl was stony and silent, never breaking eye contact as Hades spoke to her.

"Your death will be all I need to convince Ares I mean war. You're helping a cause," Hades told her, almost soothingly. "So don't fret. Your death is not meaningless. The others in Athens, maybe. But not yours."

Hades inclined his head to Anthria and she stepped forward, unsheathing one of her swords. Gently, almost tenderly, she pressed her hand to the top of the girl's golden head and titled it up so their eyes met.

"One day," the girl breathed softly, her eyes calm and ready. "You're going to save people like me."

"Now, Anthria," Hades said.

Wordlessly, Anthria drove the sword down and through the girl's stomach.

Farah screamed and jumped away from the scene, turning her head as the girl's blood splattered on the stone floor. Her body crumpled instantly, curling into a small ball on the floor as blood poured out from her, onto her fingers and the pure white of her dress.

"Come along. Let's go meet with Ares," Hades said with a flick of his wrist. The dead soldiers followed him out.

But Anthria stared for a long moment at the young girl's body. Then she sheathed her sword and walked away. As she passed Farah and the Prince the image faded.

"You killed her," Farah breathed to the real Anthria, stricken. "Just a little girl and you killed her without hesitating."

"It was the only time I ever felt guilt for obeying Hades' wishes," Anthria answered. She sought no forgiveness, even as she glanced over at them. "One year after this I was sent after you, but both Hades and I knew our relationship was ending."

"Do you think," a new voice called from behind them. "That by aiding us you'll be forgiven for all that you've done?"

An old woman hobbled over to them, her back hunched under her long cloak. A cane thumped against the stones as she moved slowly over to them.

The Prince's eyes widen. "You! That old woman from Thessaly!"

"You know her?" Farah demanded.

But Anthria merely lifted an eyebrow and approached the old woman. "That is an interesting disguise, Athena."

Instantly, the old woman burned with a righteous light. Farah and the Prince shied away from it as the brightness filled the room they were in, rising their arms to brace against the blindly light.

And then, in the center of that, the old woman stood. But she was younger now. Her face wasn't old, but it hadn't gone into a great beauty. Instead it was smooth and classical, speaking of knowledge and power. The cloak became a long chiton covered by a breastplate. The cane straightened into a staff.

Yes, she wasn't beautiful but there was something wonderful about this woman. Something that transcended beyond beauty. An owl swooped into the temple and landed elegantly onto her shoulder, ruffling its feathers.

"You're Athena?" the Prince demanded, pointing a finger.

The goddess spared him a glance, her gray eyes nearly laughing. "Of course. What other old woman would sit beside a young man she barely knew? I needed to get you started. You were our only hope."

"And Farah? How does she play into all of this?" the Prince demanded, trying to move closer to said princess. But Farah sent him another warning look and moved closer to the goddess.

"A victim of circumstance, I'm afraid," Athena answered and gave Farah a small glance. "That was all Hades and Ares doing."

"Where is this weapon Hermes sent us after?" Anthria asked suddenly, stepping toward the goddess.

All at once the warmth from Athena's eyes went dead and she wheeled around, pointing a finger at the woman. Fire and thunder crackled in her gray irises as she snarled. Her owl gave a small screech of anger.

Even Anthria flinched. Not much, of course, but the power of Athena was so immense that it even rocked Anthria and her legs wobbled. As power washed over her, she forced herself to remain upright, to stare directly into the goddess's eyes.

If anything was to get down, Anthria would need to remain firm.

"Well?" she asked, forcing her face into passive lines. She had years of practice at it and came out with no visible strain.

Bitingly, the goddess demanded, "Do you really think that you'll be forgiven if you do this? That you'll buy your way out of Tarturus, where you belong? You killed my priestess, Anthria."

Athena breath hissed out of her parted lips. Farah saw then why this woman was called a war goddess. She looked righteous and ready to do battle in her fiery glow and armor. The earth all but quaked in response to the goddess's rage.

It was obvious why no one could kill a god then. Not merely because it would disrupt the careful balance set up in the Grecian world, but also because the gods were too powerful. They had too much power for a mortal to even scratch them.

When she glanced over to the Prince, Farah saw her thoughts were mirrored in his eyes. He, too, had just realized what exactly they were up against, if Athena was anything to gauge them by.

If Anthria had similar thoughts she did not show it. There was only a brief tightening of muscles in her jaw that hinted at something—anger, fear, unease, Farah could only guess—and her fingers curled into fists for a moment.

Then Anthria's back stiffened and it seemed as if that moment had never occurred.

Athena shook as she approached, her staff thumping on the stone floor, making the walls boom with the sound. Her eyes were narrowed into slits as she lifted an angry hand to point once more at Anthria.

"There will be no forgiveness for _you_," she snarled.

* * *

**Story Notes:  
**(1) The Temple of Athena is _this_ story should not be confused with the famous Temple of Athena in Paestrum. Ironically, while Athens had many temples dedicated to the Grecian gods, the actual Temple of Athena, called the Temple of Athena Nike, was quite small and nothing in comparison to the Pantheon, the most famous ancient temple in the world. While the Pantheon was originally built in honor of Athena—and hope that she would help the Athenians beat the Spartans—it worshipped all the gods. To gave the Temple of Athena greater importance, I switched the two around and I moved the temple closer to the water. The Saronic Gulf initially had no temples of Athens overlooking it.

(2) people have been taught that Athena was the goddess of wisdom, and was therefore not bloodthirsty at all. On the contrary, Athena was often connected to war. Her title of "goddess of wisdom" referred to wisdom to win battles, and she was often called the "goddess of victory". As such, she is considered a Goddess of War. But, because "she" apparently believed that the best way to win battles and wars was that the least amount of bloodshed as possible, violence in Athena's temples was strictly forbidden.

(3) the virgins of the Greek were quite different from the virgins of the Roman world. While the Vestal Virgins that everyone is familiar from Roman times were allowed to become married after their service to Miranda (the Roman equivalence of Athena) was over, virgins to Athena were remained wards of the temple throughout the course of their lives. Grecian virgins were supposed to retain their virginity, of course, since it was believed that Athena would only converse with pure maidens, but there was no punishment for a virgin who broke her oath. Normally, they were cast from the temple in shame and no man would touch her, since she was believed to earn the wrath of Athena. Roman Vestal Virgins were buried alive if it was discovered that they had lost their virginity.

**Reviews**

**Black-Phoenix10:** oh, trust me, it's coming. XD

**Sakura123:** yup, Anthria's really flawed when it comes to her thirst for revenge. I mean, it's really odd and everything, but I know for a fact that if Anthria was _real_ character, we would not be friends. She's why too uptight.

**OliveraT:** yeah, this chapter was such fun to write:D I loved being about to go back and add all those SoT moments. It just reminds me that game never really gets old. It's always fun, and it's not like it requires weeks and weeks of dedication. But, seriously, if I was you I'd hunt him down… and _kill_ him. Then I'd take my game back… but only after _I killed him_. But, then again, I'm vindictive.

**EmpireStateSwanton:** zomg! I have to see that movie, or I will die. Sparta has always been cool, I'm just glad everyone's noticing now. _SPARTAAAAAAAA!_

**bluetinkerbell: **well, this is based directly off SoT, with no connection to WW or T2T so the Prince doesn't have to go through all those emo phases he does (he emotes a lot!). And they both are still British… I love me some British!Prince and British!Farah.

**AznPuffyHair:** yes, the Dagger seems useless, doesn't it? But it does have a use, and the Prince will be using it, but there's no Sand Creatures around so there is no way to replenish lost Sand… and you never know when you're gonna need Sand… so the Prince is going to wait until the last possible moment.

**Next Chapter Preview**

…"_Who gave you this ship?" Farah wondered and the Prince glanced over at her._

"_I don't think she got it from anyone," the Prince answered and allowed his accusation to hang in the air._

"_Come then, we don't have much time," Anthria told them and took the rucksack from Farah. She threw herself back into the boat and helped Farah on, motioning to the Prince to unsecured the boat._

_Once the Prince had unhooked their ship and had leapt onto the boat, Anthria released the sails and they set off toward her former home._

_Sparta…._

… _Above her head the rain settled down into a mist. Farah pushed back her makeshift cloak and lifted her head to the gentle spray._

_Something was moving inside her breast. Something that, perhaps, had been there since the first night the Prince of Persia had found his way to his balcony. Her heart recognized it, but her mind did not._

_Until this moment, her mind had always been stronger._

"_That story," she breathed as she glanced over the Prince. He lowered his blanket and looked over at her. "The woman in it…"_


	18. Unforgivable Sins

**Disclaimer:** are you about as tired of this as I am?

**Spoilers:** is still pointless

**Author's Notes:** ah, oops? Well, I actually had to rewrite this entire thing before shipping it off to my faithful beta-er (the ever patient Specter Von Baron) because on a forth read-through of this chapter, I didn't like how Anthria acted in this chapter. She was too Mary Sue-ish. Heaven forbid!

* * *

_/Chapter Seventeen: Unforgivable Sins/_

**"Grant I may hear the small birds singing  
****The song that the silence knows…  
****(The Light and Shadow whisper together,  
****The lovely moment grows,  
****Ripples into the air like water  
****Away and away without a sound  
****And the little girl gets up from her prayer  
****On the cold ground)  
**-"A Little Girl's Prayer", Katherine Mansfield

* * *

Anthria was cool as always even as Athena spilled out those hateful words. Perhaps she had been prepared for them, or perhaps she welcomed them. After all, Anthria had clearly felt guilty over killing the little girl.

But, then, it was always near impossible to read Anthria's mind.

"Your master made his point didn't he?" Athena sneered angrily, her owl twittering nervously on her shoulder. "He slaughtered half the Athenian population and gained Ares favor, did he not?"

"Yes," Anthria answered more for the Prince and Farah than Athena. "Ares contacted Hades immediately after Hades had shown his willingness to follow through with the plan and preparations were made to kidnap Farah."

"You never looked back, did you?" Athena hissed out, curling her fingers tight around her staff. "You never once looked back at all those people you killed. Men and women and children. This little girl."

For a long moment, Anthria was merely silent, staring down at the spot where the little girl had rested. Much like her former self had in the vision.

Then she said in a strained, uncharacteristic voice, "No."

Enraged, Athena thumped her staff on the floor. "She died because you are weak. A weak woman driven by revenge and hate. Your rage blinds you to all else. She wasn't a child to you. She was an obstacle and you eliminated her."

Again there was another strained silence as Athena's eyes bore into Anthria. Anthria remained unmoving, but her shoulders tensed visibly, as if she was under some great strain at looking into a god's eyes for so long.

The Prince looked over at Farah and their eyes met. It was obvious to them that they were superficial in this meeting. Athena did not see them any longer and Anthria was too busy coming to terms with her own sins.

"You'll suffer greatly when you die," Athena said at last, her voice nothing more than a menacing curse.

"When I die? You'll need to seek out your uncle first," Anthria replied shortly, her voice slightly strained but now more clipped, and earned another snarl from the goddess of wisdom. "For his own reasons, Hades' power of immortality is still upon me."

"Content to walk the earth like the plague are you?" Athena shot at her.

Anthria's face darkened at the insult, but her voice was still calm as she said, "We did not come here to bicker of past errors. I was under the impression that the goddess sought my aid in freeing Zeus from his entrapment."

"I find myself curious as to why you agreed to such a thing." She then glanced at Farah and the Prince and they both shook at the power in her eyes, at last understanding why Anthria had trembled. "Hermes told me it had to do with this prince of Persia, but I doubted it since you have no heart. Why then?"

"It matters little," Anthria retorted coolly, refusing to answer. "I have been sworn to free Zeus and free the King I shall. But to do so I need your weapon."

Athena's face twisted back down into a small frown. She seemed to control her anger in the face of so much opposition, realizing now that whatever grievances she held against Anthria could not be dealt with at the moment.

"Take it then," she told Anthria calmly and flicked her free hand into the air.

A golden glow formed above Anthria's head.

Finally, it materialized into a sword. It was broad and powerful, etched in a golden light. Its edges were deadly sharp and smooth, designed to slice through whatever enemy it came up against. The hilt was generously designed, slim for holding and wide at the top for the blade.

Blinking up at her, Anthria reached out and closed her hand over the hilt. All at once the golden light dimmed and the sword plummeted fully into Anthria's hand. For a moment, the muscles in Anthria's arms went taut with the pressure of holding it. Then she relaxed her arms and held the sword with a strong grip.

"This sword is the collective power of the gods who stay true on Zeus's side," Athena answered solemnly. "No mortal hand has wielded so strong a weapon. But I tell you this _now_, Anthria, such power comes with a price."

Saying nothing, Anthria lifted the sword and tested its weight. She swung it clumsily at first and then seemed to gain a hold for the strength and weight of the blade.

"This sword," Athena went on as Anthria lowered it back to the ground. "Was meant _only_ to free Zeus. Once is comes in contact with an enemy or an obstacle it shall release all the energy it has into one blow. If you use it on anything else—_anything_—then it shall lose all its power and all hope shall die."

Instantly, Anthria's eyes were brought back up to Athena. They darkened considerably and it was obvious what those eyes were thinking of. Capetraion was alive and on his way to his master's side. Anthria's whole life had been dedicated to finding and destroying him, but she could not swing her sword at him…

"Capetraion cannot be attacked with this sword," Athena told her, seeing the way Anthria's thoughts went. "It will destroy the sword and all the power it holds. We will deal with this traitor in our way."

Anthria's eyes went impossibly dark even as she said nothing. But they all knew what she was thinking. _No, I will not._

"They are in Sparta," Athena said then. "Hades, Ares, and Capetraion. Readying for their war against the east. Zeus is being kept locked away in the palace of Sparta, behind its high walls. You know of it, don't you?"

"I do," Anthria answered.

"Then go now and fulfill your promise." Once more, Athena's face turned dark and menacing as she leaned in toward Anthria, the tip of her staff tilting down. "But it will _not_ save you from your fate."

With another burst of light, Athena expelled herself from the temple. The presence of power in the air faded and left only Farah, the Prince, and Anthria standing there. The silence returned as Anthria stared down at the sword clasped hard in her hand.

Then she turned to face them and said impassively, "Return to the inn. Fetch what things we left there."

"But I thought you said that they won't—"

"Fight your way in if you have to," Anthria said harshly. Farah's eyes narrowed at the hard treatment but Anthria was already boiling for anger and it didn't stop her. "We leave for Sparta within the hour. So make haste."

She turned and, still wielding the sword in her hand, left them standing there. Her whole body was taut with burning anger at being denied the one thing she yearned for more than anything else in the world.

And yet, she was as cold as ever.

"Come on!" Farah ordered the Prince, who had narrowed his eyes at Anthria's retreating back. "You heard her!"

As Farah hurried in Anthria's foot steps, the Prince called after her, "I don't know. Do you honestly think following her lead now would be a good idea?"

"What choice do we have?" When the Prince continued to stare at her, Farah stomped over him. "Listen here, Anthria went through a lot to see you alive and well. So we follow her to Sparta and help her pay her debt she earned for saving you. Understand?"

"I wouldn't have been in that mess if it weren't for—" He cut himself off as Farah's eyes flashed dangerously. Then, groaning, he rushed passed her. "Well, let's go! We can't keep Anthria waiting!"

Smirking at his back, Farah followed him out of the temple. The streets of Athens were still rather empty, but people were mulling about silently now, glancing over their shoulders. They sent Farah and the Prince suspicious looks when they passed but otherwise ignored them.

The Prince paused to allow Farah to catch up with him as they came to a halt in front of the inn. He pushed open the door and they stepped into the warmth.

"Oh no!" the barmaid who had showed them to their rooms that previous night cried as she stepped toward them. "I heard about you two! You're with _her_, the Scourge from Sparta! I won't have it!"

"We're only here to collect our things and leave," Farah answered, trying to sound soothing, but she only came out sounding annoyed.

"I don't think so!" the barmaid howled and made to lunge at them. "She is an unholy demon! She killed my father!"

Instantly, the Prince leapt in front of Farah and drew his sword. The barmaid, clad only in a flimsy chiton and a serving plate, skidded to a halt. Levelly, the Prince sheathed his sword and kept his hand on his hilt.

"We seek," he said slowly, as if he feared that the maid might not understand him. "Only to collect _our_ belongings. We mean you no harm or trouble. Let us pass."

For a long, tense moment the barmaid looked ready to tempt the sword. She glared at them harshly, her eyes hot and narrowed in her face. Then she released a breath and stepped side, motioning forward with her shoulder.

"Fine then. Get them and get gone." She tossed her serving plate off to the side. "We don't want you here ever again."

"Believe me," the Prince drawled, his voice oozing sarcasm. "That point is well across."

Farah was already moving up the stairs. She couldn't explain why she felt the need to move so quickly, but she suspected it had something to do with the fact that they were so _close_. Their true foes, Hades and Ares, were finally within their sight. After a number of weeks, Farah was ready to see the journey over.

She could return to India…

Something jolted in her heart and she stopped. The thought of going home was not as pleasant she expected and she couldn't help but wonder why. After all, she had started out with wanting nothing more than to return to her father.

Now… but now she almost wanted her journey to continue. To remain with her companions.

The Prince moved beside her. "What is it?" he asked, but he was distracted as he moved up the stairs to his former room.

Shaking her head, Farah dropped her foolish thoughts. "Nothing. Let's hurry."

As quickly as she could Farah gathered what things she and Anthria had left in their room. There wasn't much and she was thankful for it. It was mostly what coins they still had left, their blankets, and the rucksack Anthria had taken to carry.

"Ready?" the Prince questioned as he appeared at her threshold, smirking down at her. He likely only had the smallest things to pick up and Farah glowered up at him as she stuffed the last of the blankets into the rucksack and shouldered it.

"I packed for two," she told him haughtily and shouldered him aside as she left the room. It was perfectly clean now, as if they had never touched it, and Farah suspected that was how Anthria left most things save Athens.

"No excuses," the Prince teased and took the lead. The barmaid glared at them as they came down the stairs, but they carefully ignored her and moved out of the inn.

They hurried down to the docks, where the ocean rocked gently along the wooden planks. There were few ships in harbor and the horizon was dark with a storm.

A tiny, slim ship appeared along their side. Anthria was manning the wheel, guiding the ship to port, with an unreadable expression on her face. Her fair hair whipped harshly against her face as she leapt off the ship and onto the dock, tying it down.

"Ready?" she asked without an unrecognizable emotion in her voice.

"Who gave you this ship?" Farah wondered and the Prince glanced over at her.

"I don't think she got it from anyone," the Prince answered and allowed his accusation to hang in the air.

"Come then, we don't have much time," Anthria told them and took the rucksack from Farah. She threw herself back into the boat and helped Farah in, motioning to the Prince to unsecure the boat.

Once the Prince had unhooked their ship and had leapt onto the ship, Anthria released the sails and they set off toward her former home.

Sparta.

--&--

The ship that Anthria had procured for their journey lacked a cabin to hide from the rain that began to pelt them once they had escaped the grip of the Saronic Gulf and into the Ionian Sea.

Anthria said that their ship was moving ten times faster than it normally would have—aided by Poseidon—and Farah couldn't help but wonder why the sea god didn't stop the rain.

Shivering, she pulled the thick wool blanket tighter over her head. It was soaked from the heavy rain and chilled her to the bone, but she didn't dare remove it. Her knees were curled against her chest as she seated herself against the side of the boat.

The Prince plopped himself down beside her, a blanket covering his head as well. His dark hair was matted to his forehead and he rubbed absently at it, a frown coming across his face briefly.

"What is the first thing that you will do once this is all over?" Farah asked him, nearly shouting over the hard roar of the wind.

For a moment, it appeared as if the Prince had not heard her. Then he turned his head and their eyes met. Farah felt a zing that raced through her blood as the Prince shrugged and glanced away.

"Take you back to India, I suppose," he answered.

A laugh escaped her lips. "No, I meant, when you've returned home."

The frown on the Prince's face deepened. "I do not know if I will go back." At Farah's questioning glance, he added, "My father and I… well, I left without saying anything to my family. They likely think me dead."

"They don't," Farah answered instantly. Flushing, she looked away as his head whipped around to stare at her. "They love you, so your family will hold out hope that you will return to them alive and well. When you go back—and you _will_ go back—they will embrace you with open arms."

"Do you really think so?" the Prince demanded as his eyes widened at the possibility. He looked like a child who had just been told that his mother had been able to repair his favorite toy.

And because he looked so young and innocent, Farah chuckled and nodded. "Yes. I really think so."

"That is good…" the Prince mused. "When I go back…"

He trailed off and they lapsed into a comfortable silence. Almost unconsciously, Farah slid closer so their shoulders were brushing. The Prince gave her a sidelong glance before looking away.

Instantly, their eyes were drawn to Anthria. She manned the wheel, as always, with a cool and steady face. She was stone and as silent as a rock, her face a mask schooled into complete indifference.

All the same, though, it made Farah feel nerves creep into her stomach.

"We cannot trust her," the Prince said so softly that Farah barely made him out. "Not when she's like this. She's obsessed with that man. With killing him."

"Can you blame her?" Farah asked just as a softly, her eyes were sympathetic toward her former capturer's plight. "He took everything from her."

"But you heard Athena. The sword she gave us must be used to free Zeus _only_." He glanced back over at Anthria. "It cannot be used in an act of revenge."

"Yes, I know." The sympathy fled from her eyes. "And as much as Fate has been cruel to Anthria, our main concern is Zeus. We may have to do this alone."

The Prince nodded his head in agreement, his hand automatically reaching for hers. Farah glanced down at it, blinking, and then back up at him, raising an eyebrow. The Prince flushed down to his roots and let her hand go.

"Sorry," he mumbled and, even further under his breath, said, "Habit."

Farah felt an odd tingling sensation travel up her arm at his words. Something whispered into her ears that she should remember it. Already, it was strikingly familiar, like a dream that had repeatedly eluded her grasp.

She stared at the Prince, trying to draw answers from him. But he looked away, his face guarded with pain.

Above her head the rain settled down into a mist. Farah pushed back her makeshift cloak and lifted her head to the gentle spray.

Something was moving inside her breast. Something that, perhaps, had been there since the first night the Prince of Persia had found his way to her balcony. Her heart recognized it, but her mind did not.

Until this moment, her mind had always been stronger.

"That story," she breathed as she glanced over at the Prince. He lowered his blanket and looked at her in return. "The woman in it…"

The Prince simply stared at her, his chest close to heaving. But he said nothing. He simply watched as she struggled within her mind to reach some sort of conclusion.

Finally, as if pushing back a protesting part of her, Farah demanded softly, "I was _her_, wasn't I?"

"You didn't believe me the first time," the Prince pointed out, trying to fight the overwhelming hope that burned in his chest. She was remembering, wasn't she? What they felt for each other transcended even the powers of Time.

"I do now," Farah uttered as gently as she could, rubbing her temples to dispel her sudden pain. There was a flash in her mind as a horrible torrent opened in her thoughts.

_Their eyes meeting across the burning sand. Her eyes full of hate, his glory. Victory for him, slavery for her._

_…across the room, running toward him, seeing the glow of the Dagger of Time. No! He can't put it into the Hourglass! The Sands of Time will be released._

_"…I can't spend all day chasing after you," he tells her and she feels anger burn her chest. She _had_ helped him and how dare he attempt to embarrass her to hide his own foolishness!_

_Rough, battle-hardened hands push her against the wall, his eyes nearly wild with desperation and fear as he stares at her, taking in her medallion, realizing what's protecting her. Those eyes, green and beautiful, burn her up…_

_Watching him collapse every time he steps into the portal of glowing light, curling into himself as he struggles against the sands that swarm him. The pain and fear that clogs her heart as she is forced to endure_

_In the baths as he passes out, lifting him up and cradling his still body in her lap. Oh no, oh no, oh no, please no, not him…_

_"…my love…please don't leave me."_

_My love_. Farah felt the hard jolt in her stomach, her heart waging a fierce battle with her mind. And she stared at the Prince, eyes wild and terrified.

"I remember," she said but shook her head. "No. I don't. I just grasp feelings. But, it was long ago. It's like a dream."

A frown crossed her face as she attempted to clutch the memories once more. But she couldn't. They were like fragmented dreams. Just glimpses here and there. Fleeting and like spider webs across her skin.

"Farah…" the Prince breathed softly, moving even closer to her. His hands took her wrists and the contact was yet another jolt.

"I… I know you, don't I?" Farah asked, confused at everything that seemed to well up in her. A river beating at the dam of her heart. "Before that night in my room."

He couldn't answer her. Didn't dare begin to hope. She wouldn't remember. She wasn't meant to. Farah would forever feel like she could just reach a memory because the memory was not real, it had been erased from the timeline.

But she was looking at him so intensely he wanted to bare his soul.

Helplessly she lifted her hands. He dropped his hold on her wrists as she slid her smooth palms along his cheeks. Their eye contact never broke.

"When this is over," Farah said whisper-soft, her eyes saying all the things her words were not. "Will you take me to Persia? Show it to me?"

A breath expelled from his lips as he managed to smile at her. "Of course. I'll be happy to." Something that felt like heartburn cooked up in his chest as he looked into her eyes. She was seeking something from him, a reassurance that what she was suddenly feeling was no illusion.

It never had been to him.

Then, very slowly, she said, "An alliance between India and Persia would be… most beneficial for our lands."

The Prince couldn't stop himself from grinning as he came to understand. He nodded and, feeling a surge of boldness, leaned in to her. Farah didn't back away—and that was a good sign—and continued to stare into his eyes.

"Farah…" he breathed.

Their lips met, though neither were sure who had made the first move. But seconds after, it hardly mattered. The Prince's hand closed around her slim waist, pulling her body even closer to his. Farah twisted so she was facing him fully.

She felt another rip of those fragmented dreams through her. This was one was the most sensual the Prince had ever caused in her and it sent a ripple down her spine.

It was a flash of caverns and water and golden light. The way his fingers caressed the bare skin of her thigh was eerily familiar and the way his hair felt tunneled through his fingers was a throwback to a time she couldn't remember, but could feel.

In a trance she remembered heady breathing and the slide of cool water against feverish skin. Strong hands rubbed across her body and her lips moving over neck and shoulder and chest…

Unable to help herself, caught up in half-memories, Farah pressed herself into the Prince. The way he meshed their lips together brought her back into the future and she discovered new pleasures. The way his big hand pressed into the small of her back, the way their lips seemed to angle perfectly over one another. The feel, the taste, of his tongue against the inside of her mouth.

Gasping, she pulled away. Some part of her was screaming that he was still a stranger—a Persian at that—and kissing him in such a manner was highly inappropriate. She was a Maharaja's daughter, wasn't she? She ought to know how to behave with propriety.

Another part of her, the stronger part, told that part to shut up.

They stared at each other, the Prince's eyes glazed and dreamy green as he became caught up in his own memories. Farah imagined they were much fuller than hers, painted in vivid detail, and she made a small vow to get him to tell her what exactly that fleeting half-memory she had envisioned was really about.

But something told her the answer was for another place.

Her heart knew, now, what her mind still denied. Somehow, someway, she knew this Prince of Persia. And her feelings for him were deep and willing and fathomless. She knew that nothing could stop her, stop what she felt, not even death.

Even though her mind failed to remember a time when she would have intimately known the Prince, her heart did and it wept with the joy of being in his arms again, whispering into her mind _at last, at last_.

Smiling gently at her, the Prince cupped her face and stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. He was looking at her with such tenderness that it was vaguely familiar again. But this time she revealed in the feeling, at the knowledge that they were connected.

_"Sorry, was I staring?"_

_  
"It's all right…"_

A laugh bubbled up in her throat. She closed one of her hands on the collar of his shirt. "I don't even know your name," she said, much like she had on her balcony when he had woven for her that fantastic—_true_—story of love, treachery, and Time.

But the name didn't matter. She knew that now. Even though he had no name, her heart recognized him surer than anything else. He would always be _the Prince_ to her, the stuff of her dreams, the person her heart sang out for.

All the same…

The Prince blinked at her, as if that was the last thing he expected her to say, and then suddenly he burst out laughing. Farah pressed herself against his cloaked chest and laughed with him, feeling freer than she had in years.

"Amazing," the Prince managed when their laughter died down. "I never did find the time to tell you, did I? It never occurred to me that I should—"

"What is it?" she demanded and yanked at his collar. "Your name?"

Smiling again, the Prince looked down at her with all the tenderness in the world. The rain started to pick up and he pulled her soaking blanket back over her shoulders and caused her to start shivering again.

"Hmm… should I really tell you? I fear that would simply ruin my mystique," he told her and Farah looked up with a mock-glare.

"_Tell me!_"

He looked over at the darkened sea. Toward his home city. To Babylon. The smile dropped down to a dreamy half-smile as the Prince thought of all the future possibilities that were suddenly laid out before him.

Then he looked back down at Farah.

And he told her what she wanted to know, and it was an odd sensation. Like he was giving the last bit of himself to her. But he didn't regret it. Couldn't. He wanted nothing between them. Certainly not his name.

"My name is…(1)"

* * *

**Story Notes:**

(1) the reason why I gave the Prince no name because I felt that his name didn't really matter. Sure, Farah would have to know it, but to us, the readers, he's always going to be the Prince. Plus, I was trying to find a Persian king/prince name from around this time period, but there wasn't really any that I felt fit the Prince's description and matched him. So I'm going to keep going with the Prince. You can decide what his name is. ;)

(2) **AnzPuffyHair** asked me about the wards within the temple of Athena, and why there weren't any with the young girl Anthria killed. Well, priestess would take turns keeping vigil over during the night, which is when Hades invaded Athens. And since the young girl was training to be the High Priestess, she would have spent most of her time in isolation, praying to Athena. You can assume that most of the priestesses were sleeping and were killed, or escaped the temple all together and never came back.

**reviews**

**Rexnos:** I didn't get to see it because all my siblings are too young to see R rated, and so no would was willing to go with me. I still haven't forgiven them. As for Anthria, I never really intended for anyone to like her. She was supposed to earn a little bit of sympathy, but still ended up being deeply, deeply flawed.

**Black-Phoenix10:** I would never pull your leg! Mess with your head? Maybe.

**bluetinkerbell:** I pretty much taught myself Greek history in my youth because of my obsession with Grecian mythology. I'm not extremely knowledgeable about kings/battles/wars that took place in Ancient Greece in the like, but I know a whole lot about their culture. Now Ancient Rome? On that I could give you a history lesson. My final senior paper in my Ancient Cultures class was: Major Early Roman Battles and Their Geological Significance.

**OliveraT:** yummy. Russell Crowe.

**Sakura123:** yeah… I notice that I'm really mean to my OCs. I dunno why. Maybe I'm drunk on power?

**Ruingaraf:** I notice that there are a lot of Prince/Mary-Sue stories lately on WTF? I'd wince, but at least Kaileena/Prince would make sense… sorta. But seriously, the Prince/Farah is about as a canon as you get in a video game.

**AznPuffyHair:** Kratos pWns everything. His solves his problems… with _violence_! That's pretty much his answer to everything. Ripping off something head or other important appendage. And that's why I love him. As for the Sand rewinds… not a lot, and the Prince certainly doesn't risk it. He's waiting for the "opportune moment" (to quote PotC)

**Next Chapter Preview**

_…"Here," she told him just as his gut clenched with sudden anxiety. She thrust the Blade of Athena at him._

_The jarring movement the Prince made in surprised jostle Farah from her sleep. She lifted her head and blinked, for a moment unsure of where she was. Then her eyes met the Prince and she turned to face Anthria._

_"What's going on?" she asked when she noticed the blade Anthria outstretched to the Prince._

_"If it comes down to it," Anthria answered coolly, watching the Prince levelly. "I will go after Capetraion. Nothing will stand in my way. It is wiser for you to hold the Blade of Athena."_

_For a moment the Prince just frowned at it. Then he gave an exasperated breath and closed his hand around the hilt. Anthria dropped it and backed away…_

_…"What are you talking about!?" the Prince demanded, turning back to them, his eyes hardening to bottle green and narrowing._

_"Well, you didn't think you'd make it up to the throne room without some sort of resistance, did you?" Artemis asked and when the Prince gave her a blank look, she threw back her head and laughed._

_"Get back," Anthria ordered, giving Farah a push from the stairs._

_Farah went stumbling into the Prince and they haphazardly managed to make their way away from the stairwell. Anthria had her swords unsheathed as she moved to stand beside them, her eyes narrowing at the stone steps._

_"Well?" Farah asked._

_"Here they come," Anthria answered._


	19. Return to Sparta

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything

**Spoilers:** is still pretty much useless

**Author's Notes:** I'm next Saturday to a vacation, fun-in-the-sun getaway before I'm cruelly shipped off to the real world for some reality (read: college). So let's get this chapter up. We've only got like five chapters left after this one!

* * *

_/Chapter Eighteen: Return to Sparta/  
_**"Among the smoke and fog of a December afternoon  
****You have the scene arrange itself—as it will seem to do—  
****With "I have saved this afternoon for you";  
****And four waxed candles in the darkened room,  
****Four rings of light upon the ceiling overhead,  
****An atmosphere of Juliet's tomb"  
**-"Portrait of a Lady", T.S. Eliot

* * *

Anthria was chilled to the bone. And it was not just the rain that had caused her sudden freeze. True, the rain had been sleek and frigid as it beat relentlessly against her skin, but the rain had let up long ago.

And the chill went into her core.

She was returning to Sparta. After so many years, she was returning to her motherland. The place of her birth and her greatest sorrow.

Hurt slammed up in her chest and she struggled to control it. Her mind flashed back to that horrible time. The death of her family, her darling, precious boy. His slaughtered body, the fire and the blood and the mess of it.

Unconsciously, she tightened her grip on the ship's wheel until her fingers dug hard into the wood.

At her side the Blade of Athena glowed in a pale gold light. She glanced down at it and glowered, rage overshadowing her grief. It was a relief that she could get more angry than sad right now. Before she had thought she would simply die from all her grief. It hadn't lessened over the years, her rage had simply increased.

_Capetraion…_

When she had been in service to Hades, alive against her own will, the only thing that had kept her going was thinking that she would find Capetraion and make him pay for all that he had done to her.

But that had been denied to her. Both with Hades and Athena.

Rage threatened to boil over her. How could she simply turn her back and ignore the man who had destroyed, killed, everything she had held dear? Capetraion had killed her mother, her father, _her son_. How could any god ask her to let that hate and vengeance go, when she spent so long reaching for it?

And, more importantly, could she? Could she let the hate she felt for Capetraion go so she could free Zeus from his entrapment?

Once more, she looked down at the Blade of Athena. It looked larger than it had been, large and imposing, threatening. Keeping her from all her goals, everything she had worked countless years to achieve.

Could she just let Capetraion go?

At once, Anthria knew she couldn't. No matter what she felt she needed to do, she would never be able to simply forget all that Capetraion had done to her. All that he had done to her family.

The man had to die and she had to be the one who killed him. And she knew instantly she'd drop everything if it meant she could taste Capetraion's blood. Revenge had been such a driving force in her life that it was impossible for her to simply let it go.

_Athena and the gods will have to wait,_ Anthria thought harshly, her face hardening in hate. _I have unfinished business that has to be taken care of. If Capetraion is at the Spartan Palace then I'll kill him no matter what._

Just as she thought this she noticed Sparta on the horizon. At the back of her mind she registered the fact that it should have taken days for them to reach the Spartan shores. But Poseidon was on her side this time and he was speeding their boat toward their conquest.

_Aren't you going to be disappointed?_ She couldn't help thinking.

The Blade of Athena seemed to burn against the side of her hand. She blinked down at it and then, suddenly, jammed the steering wheel into a straight position. It would take them a few minutes to reach the shores.

And there was something she needed to do.

No matter what she wanted, there was still a war in the workings and still a god that needed to be freed. Anthria might have been willing to overlook her debt in favor of revenge but she was not about to let Hades and Ares get away with their plan.

That would only cause more death. More families to lose each other. Mothers to watch their sons killed and their husbands massacred. No, Anthria knew no woman deserved that feeling.

If she wasn't going to free Zeus, then she would make sure someone else did.

--&--

Farah was curled against the Prince's side, dozing. Partly to fight the cold of the air and partly because… they could _touch_ now.

Something made him want to throw back his head and crow.

They were touching like they had been in Azad, during the time that didn't exist. And they were laughing and joking and teasing and it was such a throwback to his memories of her that his throat burned with emotion.

Could this really be real? Could he really be holding Farah like he had for that one fleeting moment in time? She felt real in his arms, solid and warm. And his heart cried out that this was Farah, but some part of him—the part of him who remembered watching her die, helpless to stop it—didn't dare to believe him.

She sighed his name and curled closer, her hands closing around his neck.

The sound of his name on Farah's neck was a jolt. Not even in Azad had she ever whispered his name. They had been so exhausted, so strained, so worried that his name had never come up between them.

But it hadn't mattered. They had been more than his name. Names hadn't been necessary for the feelings that had arisen between them. Their souls had recognized one another, had chosen each other, and that was all that had mattered.

_This is real,_ he told himself, forcing the most doubtful part of his mind to believe it. If he believed nothing else he would believe that Farah still felt something for him, no matter what had been erased in the timeline.

He knew that Farah would never truly remember Azad and that left a small stain on his heart. But he overlooked that small pain easily, especially armed with the knowledge that Farah felt things from Azad. Even if _she_ didn't remember, some part of her could still feel what had happened.

Besides, whatever memories had been lost would have to simply be replaced by new ones, better ones, ones that were not tainted by blood, death and sand.

Smiling, he stroked a thumb across the small, red tattoo across her arm. Farah huddled closer. Yes, he would make as many memories as he could with her. Azad may have been lost but what they felt was not.

This time, the Prince was not letting Farah go. He knew that without a moment's hesitation.

Once they returned to Persia—he was taking her there first—he would seek council from his father. He would ask for forgiveness and explain his actions. Not the Azad incident, but his need for soul searching—it was close enough to the truth.

And then, well, he had every intention of marrying Farah. Like he had said once, long ago, in Azad, as his mind whirled with the possibilities of what the Sands had shown him and what he had felt growing in his breast.

_"I could marry her…"_

He had said it to himself in almost disbelief, as if the thought had never occurred to him before. But the minute he had thought it, the Prince had realized just how much he enjoyed the idea.

Before he had been willing to let the dream, the hope, die. But that was before Farah had looked at him in half-remembrance. Now, he wasn't ever going to let her go.

Just as he moved to settle Farah into his lap, the Prince became aware of the sound of sandals scrapping against wooden floorboards. Raising an eyebrow, he turned to face Anthria as she approached.

Calmly she took in the scene—Farah and the Prince all but on top of each other—and said nothing. Instead, she focused her nearly black eyes on the Prince.

"Here," she told him just as his gut clenched with sudden anxiety. She thrust the Blade of Athena at him.

The jarring movement the Prince made in surprised jostled Farah from her sleep. She lifted her head and blinked, for a moment unsure of where she was. Then her eyes met the Prince and she turned to face Anthria.

"What's going on?" she asked when she noticed the blade Anthria outstretched to the Prince.

"If it comes down to it," Anthria answered coolly, watching the Prince levelly. "I will go after Capetraion. Nothing will stand in my way. It is wiser for you to hold the Blade of Athena."

For a moment the Prince just frowned at it. Then he gave an exasperated breath and closed his hand around the hilt. Anthria dropped it and backed away.

Instantly, the Prince felt a zing of magick race up his arm. He blinked at the sensation, standing up as the hum of power traveled through his entire body. He swung the sword through the air, testing its weight, shifting it from hand to hand.

It strangely reminded him of the Dagger of Time, which he still had secured in his belt.

_I can only use that when it's absolutely necessary. I don't know how much Sand it has left._

"It's powerful," he muttered and Anthria nodded.

"It is a god's weapon, after all," she told him and shrugged, already turning to leave. "In fact, _all_ the god's power. No mortal has wielded a stronger weapon than you do now. Of course it's powerful." She turned and head back to the stern of the ship. "We will land in Sparta soon. Be prepared."

Farah's hand reached out and touched the hilt. A tremor raced through her before she dropped her hand and frowned quizzically at the sword.

"It reminds me a bit of my bow," she said finally, glancing over at the Prince as he stared down at the sword. "It feels the same way."

The Prince snorted.

"A bow is hardly capable of competing with a sword for power," he told her haughtily. Farah eyebrows went up, way up. "The very idea is…"

He trailed off when Farah's eyes narrowed dangerously. Her hands found places on her hips as she forced her face to cool and her eyebrow to rise.

"Oh really?" she asked him casually, but the heat in her dark eyes suggested she was far from casually. "You would like to test the theory of yours?"

"What I meant _is_," the Prince said smoothly, placing the Blade of Athena down on the bench beside him. "You cannot compare the two despite their strength as their purpose in battle is different. One relies on bows for cover fire and combat at a distance. Swords are for close range combat."

"Good save," Farah muttered.

The Prince gave her a cheeky grin and wrapped an arm around her waist. She went to him with little protest and their lips met. It wasn't intense like the first time, but it was moving and heated.

She wasn't exactly well experienced in this sort of thing, but Farah was sure this kiss would rate high on a scale. The Prince's fingers framed her face, his thumb messaging her cheekbone. His lips moved with certainty over hers, knowing where she needed to be kissed and how.

Shuddering, she leaned into him, her hands tightened in the fabric across his chest. The Prince mumbled some word of reverence against her mouth.

Then Anthria was beside them once again. "It appears Poseidon favors us this day." She said nothing as the Prince and Farah broke apart. "We dock in Sparta in five minutes. I will require your help to secure the rigging."

"Alright," the Prince answered and glanced over at Farah. Her lips were bruised red, curled in a half-smile, as she looked at him. He grinned at her once before following Anthria.

--&--

"It's a fortress," Farah breathed as they docked at the rickety port of Sparta(1). It appeared as if the port had been in disuse for many years, the wood rotting and splintering with age.

But what her eyes were on were the high walls that wrapped around the whole of the city of Sparta. They were intimidating and made of dark stone, looking as if they could go high enough to touch the very heavens.

"Yes," Anthria answered. "Sparta was designed to withstand a siege. It is a city bred on war and might. This port hasn't been used for many years. Sparta has channels that go into its city now and the new ports are located there."

The Prince was already on the docks, hooking the rope of the ship onto the wooden planks, pulling it taut to see that it held steady. He lifted a hand and motioned Anthria and Farah off the ship.

Slinging her bow over her back, Farah leapt and landed beside the Prince. Anthria joined them moments later, her own swords sheathed across her back.

"Follow me," she ordered as she began to lead them away from the docks. "And stay close. We do not know who will be guarding the city with Hades and Ares in control."

"Where will they be?" the Prince asked her as he and Farah kept pace with Anthria.

She led them to the Spartan walls and then led them along the smooth stone. When the water gave way to land a gate replaced the walls. The gates were charred with fire and wedged open. Black smoke billowed up from behind the gate and the bright light of raging fires glowed. But other than that there was silence.

"They will be in the palace," Anthria answered as she walked through the gate. The tiny, thatch homes that guarded the beginning of the city were burned down, nothing more then rubble and ruin.

In the distance, a large palace loomed. It was wide and covered nearly the entire back of the Spartan city, squat with high turrets and battlements.

"Have you ever been there?" Farah wondered as she slid along the dirt road to the palace. Her body was tensed with nervousness brought on by the sheer silence that seemed to surround them. _Where are the people?_

"I haven't," Anthria answered and paused as she passed another house.

The Prince's eyes narrowed as they all viewed the bodies strewn about the ground. The empty street at the beginning of the city was no more. Now bloodied bodies decayed the road, the sand painted with the red of innocent citizens, their screams silent and imposing.

Anthria stepped over a man, his hands outstretched toward the palace. Most of the people who now decorated the road with their dark blood seemed to have been heading there.

"Who will worship Ares and Hades?" Anthria wondered as she glanced back down at the torn body of a civilian. "If everyone is dead?"

"Let's just get to the palace!" Farah cried, her stomach rolling hard at the gruesome sight laid out before her. She kicked up her feet and raced ahead of Anthria and the Prince, careful not to look at the ground as she ran.

Even more bodies were laying among the rubble of the palace. Fires lapped the walls of the Spartan fortress, but seemed to dull with time. The smell of smoke and blood was ripe and sickening.

"On your guard," Anthria advised as she and the Prince came up beside Farah. The Prince placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder before following Anthria up the stone steps to the palace.

The door that had barred the civilians from the royals was thrown up, nearly ripped off its hinges, and caked with black soot. Anthria stepped over a girl's body that was wedged under the door and glanced inside.

"We must get to the throne room," she told them as she motioned Farah and the Prince forward. "That is where Zeus will be."

"How will we _free_ Zeus?" the Prince demanded, touching the hilt of the Blade of Athena. He had strapped it to his back, deeming it too big to carry, and had kept his original sword in his hand. The Dagger of Time glowed at his hip.

"I suppose we'll know when we get there," Anthria answered in a shrug and pushed open the thick double doors to the throne room's antechamber.

It was made of deep red tapestries that hung low along the walls. The floor was thick and wooden, looking as if it had just been polished neatly. It was almost as if it was a secret paradise in a world full of blood and death.

But there were already people in the room.

Instantly, Farah had an arrow notched and the Prince leaped in front of her. Groaning at his chivalry she tried to move out of his protective shield. The Prince sent her a look but moved with her.

_This is something we're going to have to deal with,_ Farah thought.

"Relax," Anthria advised and stepped forward.

At the sound of her voice the two people in the room raised their heads. Their long, golden hair shifted with their movements and made the glowing ropes around their arms and sides apparent. The golden rope rippled with power and seemed to ooze off the light.

The woman bound was short and thin, tiny like a doll, with smooth limbs and tiny features. But her face, though beautiful, held a fierceness that was disarming. She was brown from the sun and her long, blonde hair flowed down in an elegant wave.

The man, handsome more than anything Farah had ever seen, rolled his eyes heavenward. He was slightly bulky but everything about him was honed muscles. He looked as if he were a leaner, trimmer version of Ares, added with a massive amount of handsomeness. He struggled once against his bones and caused the woman pinned against his back to hiss in pain. Then he moaned.

"Curséd fate," the man said in a deep, powerful voice that seemed to reverberate throughout the palace. "_Mortals_! We are forced to rely on the frailty of _mortals_!"

"Stop twisting!" his blonde companion hissed beside him, her face clenching in unrelenting pain. "That hurts!"

"Do you not see, sister?" the man went on, kicking his sandaled foot out toward Anthria, Farah, and the Prince as they approached. "Look at who we are forced to rely on to save our wretched existence. Oh woe and misery unto our houses this day we find ourselves at the bidding of those who are damned to die! Woe!"

Lowering her head so her shocking pale hair covered her eyes, the young woman hissed, "You will be quiet!? I've forgotten how annoying your soliloquies can get when you're forced to listen to them day in and day out."

Instantly, the dramatic look upon the young man's face was lost and he snapped himself straight. The young woman fell against his back, groaning as the golden rope around their arms burned her.

"Hold your tongue!" he snarled at her, twisting his head around to try to glare at her. "My speech sends hordes of women into a swoon. I am he who is the fiery lord of Sun! You are the mere moon, a pale comparison to my majesty—!"

"Yes, yes," the woman agreed sarcastically. "But you could have just told me to shut up, couldn't you?"

He slumped down, hunching his shoulders defensively. "You're no fun," he told the woman in a voice that seemed all at once to lose its great power. "Here we are chained up like stupid animals with nothing to do but talk to one another."

"You do most of the talking," the woman pointed out.

"Shut up!"

"Lady Artemis," Anthria greeted as she came up to them, promptly cutting off their bickering. "Lord Apollo(2)."

"Oh, it's you," Artemis greeted, throwing back her blonde head. "Don't bother with these ropes. Uncle's magicked them something awful. _We_ can't get it."

"And believe me," Apollo interjected instantly, his voice talking on his reverberating form. "It is such a harrowing burden that it increases with each minute I do so spend here bound to mine sister."

"Argh!" Artemis answered, gnashing her teeth. "If only mortals could kill gods!"

"Hades and Ares are in the throne room?" Anthria asked, not taking note at the way Artemis and Apollo seemed ready to go back at each other's throats.

"Yeah," Artemis replied and blinked at Anthria, as if finally seeing her for the first time. "Wait, you're not here to _kill_ him, are you?"

"A mortal? Harming Uncle?" Apollo snorted, flexing his rippling biceps. "You do jest, sister dear. Not even a creature such as Anthria can think to harm a god." Then he smiled blindingly handsome up at Anthria. "But if it is your wish to try on our most wretched lout of a brother, you may consider—"

"My bow!" Artemis cut in, her eyes locking with Farah and she and the Prince stepped forward. "That's my bow!"

Smugly, Farah looked over at the Prince, twirling the ivory bow with her fingers. The Prince looked away, glaring off into the distance.

"In heaven's name I implore you, tell me why such a woman as an Indian princess might have your—" Apollo began.

"Zeus Almightily!" Artemis invoked, aptly stopping Apollo's speech. "I gave it to Athena for safe keeping when I learned you had a fool plan to go and convince Ares to free Father because I knew that it would only end badly!"

"I won that battle!" Apollo screeched at her, losing his masculine and intimidating voice. "Ares just tricked me! How was I supposed to know that Hades was standing right beside me?"

"I wonder," Artemis drawled sarcastically.

"We must find Hades and Ares," Anthria told Farah and the Prince, promptly ignoring Artemis and Apollo as they began to bicker back and forth. "The throne room is this way."

With Anthria leading the way, Farah and the Prince followed her through the wide room and toward the darkened stairs that spiraled up and away.

"Oh," Artemis said suddenly, stopping her argument with her brother. "Suppose that's Uncle sending some monsters to take care of them?"

"Yeah," Apollo returned with a shrug, not bothering to return to his powerful, godly voice. "He'll probably kill them. He won't capture them, you know, because there's no point. They're mortals."

"What are you talking about!?" the Prince demanded, turning back to them, his eyes hardening to bottle green and narrowing.

"Well, you didn't think you'd make it up to the throne room without some sort of resistance, did you?" Artemis asked and when the Prince gave her a blank look, she threw back her head and laughed.

"Get back," Anthria ordered, giving Farah a push from the stairs.

Farah went stumbling into the Prince and they haphazardly managed to get away from the stairwell. Anthria had her swords unsheathed as she moved to stand beside them, her eyes narrowing at the stone steps.

"Well?" Farah asked.

"Here they come," Anthria answered.

The undead soldiers, reeking of Hades's touch upon their decaying flesh, moved down the stairs. There were over ten of them and each seemed more than willing to tear into anything that came in their way. They wore heavy Spartan armor and carried a variety of weapons.

"We'll have to kill them before we can move on," the Prince observed as he withdrew his sword, his hand skimming over the Dagger of Time for reassurance.

"Won't they keep coming after us?" Farah asked.

But the undead soldiers were already closing in on them.

* * *

**Story Notes:**

(1) early Sparta was a port city, with its people focused more on its military prowess than its trading. Predictably, the Spartans built a large, stone wall around the entirely of their city (not unlike Troy) that protected the city from major attacks. There were many more exits and entrances into Sparta than into Troy, but they were all closed during wartime. Way back in the day, it was said a Spartan woman had not seen the flames of war for nearly 500 hundred years in thanks to the city's walls

(2) Apollo and Artemis are the twin children of Zeus, Artemis the virgin goddess of the hunt and wild things, symbolized by the moon, and Apollo the lord of music and prose, symbolized by the sun. Despite being brother and sister, Apollo and Artemis don't interact all that often, only two occasion do they seem to be in contact with one another, when they punished a woman for insulting their mother, and when Artemis began to fall in love with the giant Orion. I just wanted them in there for fun, to see them behaving like normal brother and sister.

**reviews**

**Black-Phoenix10:** yeah, I'm never going to call the Prince anything except 'the Prince', unless Ubisoft gives him a name. I hope not, being nameless adds to his mystique

**AznPuffyHair** Athena doesn't care much for the Prince _or_ Farah, the whole I'm-a-god-and-you're-not thing. But as it turns out Farah has a strong weapon all along and the Prince got a cool weapon. Just one he couldn't use. XD

**Sakura123:** oh yeah. The Prince and Farah are just magnates for trouble aren't they? I hate to see what their _kids_ are going to be like.

**Rexnos** nothing will stop me from _eventually _seeing 300. I can't see myself really killing off Farah and the Prince. As for Anthria's fate, you'll just have to see what happened to her!

**Next Chapter Preview**

_"I can take care of myself!" she shouted at him, releasing another arrow._

_"So you've proven!" the Prince shouted back at her. He flipped his sword outward and thrust the tip into the soldier's neck. With little more than a gurgle, the body flopped to the ground._

_"You can't keep protecting me!" Farah thundered, thrusting her chin out haughtily. "Not only am I able to take care of myself but you are the wielder of the Blade! You will have to free Zeus!"_

_"Well, I won't see you in danger," the Prince snapped back at her, glowering off into the distance. "I've seen that already, thank you."…_

_…"My lords," the old man greeted._

_"News, Capetraion?" Hades asked as both he and Ares stepped away from Zeus's entrapment._

_"Anthria is but two stories away from us," Capetraion told them grimly, gripping his staff slightly tighter than he had before._

_"Yes, we know. Are you really surprised?"_

_"No, my Lord, I truly am not. That is Anthria's way. Foolish woman," Capetraion snapped and spat on the floor, cursing the woman who wanted him dead._


	20. Without Mercy

**Disclaimer:** I disclaim

**Spoilers:** continues to have no point

**Author's Notes:** sorry about the super!late update, guys. College explicitly attacked me, beat me to a pulp, took the fifty dollars in my pocket, and left me weeping on the side of the road twenty miles from home. But hopefully things will get easier now. Let's hope!

* * *

/Chapter Nineteen: Without Mercy/  
"**The pacing sentry hugs himself for cold  
****Keep vigil like a lover, muse and smile  
****And think, to see from the grim castle steep  
****The midnight city below rejoice and shine:  
**"**there my great demon grumbles in his sleep  
****and dreams of his destruction, and of mine"  
**-"Pleasure of Princes", A.D. Hope

* * *

It was a memory for the Prince, almost a throwback to Azad. Snarling monsters—the stuff of nightmares really—wielding weapons with every intent on killing him. 

For a moment, he could do no more than stand as his mind flashed back to the constant struggles he had once—but no longer—faced. He couldn't get his body to move, even though his hand had shot out to grip the handle of the Dagger of Time.

"Prince!" Farah shouted at him, drawing herself back toward Artemis and Apollo as she notched an arrow. It flew passed his shoulder and into the first soldier that bore down upon him.

Instantly, he was moving. Azad's memory left him like a dream and he was beside Anthria, his arm twisted and snapping to swipe at the face of the soldier who moved to bite Anthria's neck.

"Remember their weakness!" Anthria shouted to him as a droplet of blood splashed across her cheek. She arched herself backward, swinging her sword over her face and connected with the hard stomachs of three soldiers. "Slice their necks!"

_No need to tell me_, the Prince thought but didn't bother shouting it at Anthria. His voice would have been lost over the roar of the soldiers.

He propelled himself toward the wall, his feet bracing for the contact. As Anthria rolled passed him, the Prince pushed himself forward. The power behind his kick gave him a powerful momentum that brought him tearing into the nearest soldiers.

Without much resistance, the Prince's sword found the gap between shoulder armor and helmet. A bloody, severed head went rolling along the floor beside the Prince as he cushioned his fall to the ground with a small roll.

"Nice work!" Anthria shouted to him as she dropped one of her swords to catch the wrist of an undead soldier. Using his body as a kickboard for her feet, she flipped herself over his head. The top of her foot hit the soldier's chin and sent the soldier falling off his feet.

The moment she landed, Anthria was sweeping back around, picking up her sword as she went. With a wide arch of her arm, she brought the sword through the soldier's neck. As the soldier gurgled out pain, she dropped him.

"And you as well!" the Prince called to her.

Suddenly, the Prince remembered Farah. He wheeled around, his eyes searching the room. Farah had fallen back, well aware that the purpose of a bow was not to fight in the frontlines, and she had been providing cover fire while Anthria and the Prince took care of the soldiers.

But now the soldiers had caught on and two of them had moved to corner her. Farah was forced to back up toward to Artemis and Apollo, who were watching the events unfold with interested eyes.

Again, the Prince flashed back to Azad. Something tightened hard in his stomach, even though a voice reasoned Farah would find a way to handle herself. Indeed, she didn't look worried, merely determined and grim.

"Farah!" he called out as he raced toward her.

An undead soldier leaped in front of him and the Prince's eyes narrowed. He was tired of these creatures getting in his way whenever Farah needed him. His fingers tightened over his sword and his free hand withdrew the Dagger of Time.

_Not this time._

The soldier flew from him. Anthria bore him against the wall, grunting as the soldier struggled against her arm. She glanced over at the Prince and motioned toward Farah with her head.

"Go!"

Just as the Prince nodded, the soldier freed himself. He pressed his decaying foot against Anthria's abdomen and pushed her away. With a gasp of pain Anthria crashed hard into the floor. But she was back on her feet instantly, leaping away from the battle axe that was brought down on her body.

Knowing very well that Anthria was capable of protecting herself, the Prince continued toward Farah.

The soldier's sword swung at Farah's head. She arched her back down and the sword zipped over her face, connecting with the wall. Artemis and Apollo, who were just behind her, ducked as well to avoid the blade.

"Damn the day my brother sought to raise you from your grave!" Apollo thundered, once again retaining his voice of godly power. He pushed himself protectively over Artemis, forcing the girl to hunch down even lower.

Using her elbows, Artemis pushed him away. "Move!" she called to Farah, kicking her feet out toward her.

Artemis's feet connected with the backs of Farah's knees and she collapsed instantly. The sword the soldier had finally worked free of the wall went once again swinging over her head.

Farah leapt back to her feet, swinging her bow at an arch and hit the soldier hard in the head. The undead being went stumbling back, grunting under his breath in pain. The second soldier moved onto her from behind.

As she turned to face down her foe, the Prince reached her. He swung himself over the soldiers back, his feet pointed to land gracefully on the ground. His free hand swung his sword out and around, cutting into the neck long before the Prince touched the floor.

"Are you alright?" the Prince demanded as she notched an arrow at her last undead foe. She released it and nodded tightly at him, her face a mask of dark rage.

"I can take care of myself!" she shouted at him, releasing another arrow.

"So you've proven!" the Prince shouted back at her. He flipped his sword outward and thrust the tip into the soldier's neck. With little more than a gurgle, the body flopped to the ground.

"You can't keep protecting me!" Farah thundered, thrusting her chin out haughtily. "Not only am I able to take care of myself but you are the wielder of the Blade! You will have to free Zeus!"

"Well, I won't see you in danger," the Prince snapped back at her, glowering off into the distance. "I've seen that already, thank you."

Farah's gaze softened on him and she touched his arm. "Prince," she began as calmly and soothingly as she could "This is something bigger than all of us. Don't you see? It doesn't matter who falls so long as war is not brought onto our countries."

"It matters to me!" the Prince retorted, glaring down at her. "I won't sacrifice you for some god! If the time comes and I—"

"We must move," Anthria said suddenly, kicking the now still corpse of Ares' undead soldier off her. "Quickly before they come back."

"I'm actually interested to see how this plays out," Artemis mused with a small smile. "You might actually stand a chance with him."

"Sister, surely you jest!" Apollo shot back at her, rolling his shoulders with his laugh. "Our brother and uncle—fools they may be—are made of no such thing that these mortals can harm! They are mere cannon fodder for what is to come."

"If you want to hurry it up," Artemis entreated sweetly, her grin fierce and deadly. "Then I would not complain."

"Follow me," Anthria ordered and sheathed her sword. She sent the Prince a look. "Remember that the Blade is not for fights with Ares and Hades. Our goal is only to—"

"Free Zeus," the Prince finished for her, his face still dark with is thoughts. He glanced once over at Farah before approaching Anthria, saying nothing.

"Come here, and hurry. You do not have much time," Artemis ordered to Farah. "Apollo, stop being annoying for a moment or two and let me touch my bow."

"Relying on the mortals now, sister dear?" Apollo asked in his usual flourish, raising a handsome eyebrow. "How the mightiest of us have fallen. Mine own sister, hereby reduced to aiding a mortal so that she might—"

Artemis' sudden jerk forward caused Apollo to choke on the rest of his words. Farah bent down beside Artemis and the goddess motioned with her blonde head to bring her bow closer.

"There now," Artemis said as her forehead touched the smooth ivory handle of the bow. For a long moment the elegant weapon seemed to blaze with a holy fire. "That should do it nicely."

"What did you do?" Farah asked as she stood, rubbing the ivory. "It feels… powerful."

"Something very useful," Artemis answered with another fierce, warrior grin. "Shoot your enemies with this body and, as long as the arrow pierces flesh, they'll find themselves encased in fire that will only cease when they are dead."

Breathlessly, Farah stood and looked down at Artemis as she continued to grin. "Thank you."

"Thank us not," Apollo advised, suddenly grim. "For we do it merely for ourselves. And I doubt that you will survive."

"Farah!" the Prince called from the stairwell. "Come!"

Wheeling around, Farah ran to them, notching an arrow as she went. Hastily, she appeared behind the Prince on the darkened stairwell, their eyes trying to adjust to the nearly all-consuming darkness.

"Keep up your guard," Anthria told them, her sword glinting only slightly in the light.

They climbed their way up the sprawling staircase.

--&--

"I'll admit, she's persistent."

"The fact that she has those children aiding her doesn't help much either," Hades conceded, reclining on the smooth, golden throne of Sparta sideways, his long legs spilling out the side of the throne and kicking the air with a bored motion. A wine glass was held loftily between his two fingers and was only there to be sampled.

Hades had yet to acquire a taste for Spartan wine.

"Did you think she would come after us?" Ares wondered as he paced the throne room. His body, bulky and powerful, seemed to have the most presence of anything in the throne room. His sandals thudded against the marble floor, draped in red cloth.

"I suspected she would do something brash," Hades answered, looking down at his wine. "Admittedly, Anthria giving her aid to the prince and princess—as well as them accepting it—was not something I would have thought could happen."

Growling, annoyed at Hades' words, Ares folded his big arms over his chest. "Perhaps you should have thought of this." His eyes crinkled as he looked over at his uncle. "We need to finish them off fast."

"Always in a hurry to conquer the world, are you?" Hades teased lightly, taking a sip of his red, red wine.

"I _am_ the god of war, aren't I?"

"Point dully noted," Hades returned and slid his gaze away from Ares. "Would you stop your pacing? It's awfully annoying."

"Anthria—who hates you and _hates_ Capetraion—is coming here with that damned blade Athena managed to keep from us… with every intent on using it." Ares dropped his arms and sent Hades a scowl. "And you had Capetraion remain in the palace."

"That blade won't kill us," Hades told him.

"Oh? So sure?"

"My good nephew, we're _gods_. That means we're immortal. We insure a certain… balance among the mortals. You with their lusts and powers and greed. I, with their death and rebirth. All the gods symbolize something." Hades shrugged his shoulders. "That's why my dearest brother refused to consider extending our force to the Eastern world. Too many duties, too many mortals to deal with."

"Probably just didn't want to have another Troy again(1)," Ares answered, his face turning sour at the memory.

"Most likely. But I," Hades tipped his glass toward Ares as he approached. "Believe that our powers are more than capable of handling a few more mortals. It's just too bad I couldn't convince brother dear here."

Ares approached the throne, glancing once at Hades. Then he shifted and went to the left, halting at the throne's armrest. His hand reached out and skimmed along a smooth, golden rock. The dim glow that emitted constantly from the rock grew brighter before Ares pulled his hand back.

It was solid and smooth and cold like ice. It was as see-through as ice as well. Inside the center, curled slightly as if forming massive power in his hands, was Zeus. His big, burly body was nearly identical to Ares, beard and all. In the golden rock-ice Zeus looked mad and unmoving.

The fact that his father wasn't able to escape the prison Hades had constructed especially for his brother worried Ares, even as he knew it worked for his best advantage. All the same, Zeus was Ares' father.

"That won't hurt him, will it?" he wondered, not for the first and surely not for the last.

Put out suddenly, Hades swung himself over the throne and propped his feet against the smooth platform, bending over his knees. Then he stood and walked over to Ares.

"For the very last time, _yes_. We can't kill Zeus, even if we wanted to. He is the King of the Gods." Hades rapped his knuckles lightly on the cold stone. "He's just stuck in there until we free him."

"When will that be?" Ares wondered.

There was another shrug from Hades. "When he's not a threat, I suppose. He's probably going to be there for a _very_ long time. But that's the penalty of war."

"I know that, I'm—"

"The god of War, I know," Hades finished for him, turning his head. He lifted a hand to silence Ares as he started to loudly protest.

Capetraion walked forward slowly, his cane thumping against the smooth marble ground. His haggard face was sent in a line of war as he bent over in a brittle, stiff bow to the two gods before him.

"My lords," the old man greeted.

"News, Capetraion?" Hades asked as both he and Ares stepped away from Zeus's entrapment.

"Anthria is but two stories away from us," Capetraion told them grimly, gripping his staff slightly tighter than he had before.

"Yes, we know. Are you really surprised?"

"No, my Lord, I truly am not. That is Anthria's way. Foolish woman," Capetraion snapped and spat on the floor, cursing the woman who wanted him dead.

"Anthria is guided only by her revenge. That is her weakness." Ares' stretched out into a feral grin. "We will use that against her, no doubt. Perhaps I see now your choice in keeping Capetraion here."

"Yes, he'll prove to be a fatal distraction. We'll take that time to kill off Anthria's little friends and take Athena's blade," Hades said, handing his sherry glass off to Ares, who gulped the alcohol down in one swallow.

"So I am to fight Anthria?" Capetraion asked, but not afraid as some would think. He seemed rather disinterested in the entire subject at hand, twirling the top of his staff between his fingers absently.

"Do you mind?" Hades wanted to know, but didn't sound like he cared.

"Not particularly," Capetraion answered with a shrug. "She would have come after me no matter where I went. Better to end it here."

"Don't worry, my most humble servant," Hades told him and took another step toward the darkened stairwell in front of them. "I plan to make it a fair fight."

--&--

The Blade of Artemis felt heavy on the Prince's back. It seemed to gain more power with each step that took him closer to Zeus. Almost as if it was calling out for the god. The sword was hot to the touch and warmed the Prince's back with a slightly soothing sensation.

Anthria moved ahead of him, one sword still on the sheath across her back, the other in her hand. She was all purpose now, having not bothered to glance back at Farah and the Prince as she made her way up the stairs.

Farah lagged behind slightly, going slower so that her arrow stayed notched in her bow. They had not run into a single enemy since they had started to ascend the stairs to the throne room, but the Prince would take no chances this time.

The Dagger of Time pulsed against his thigh.

And then they entered.

The room was wide and brightly lit, decorated with flowing tapestries and draped carpets along the floor. The main color was black and red, crimson like freshly spilt blood. Black marble for the floors, smooth and transparent, and then smooth, nearly colorless marble for the walls.

In the center of the room—toward the back of it—stood the throne, ascended on three steps, with pointed tops and gold tilting and lush cushions.

"Is that Zeus?" Farah demanded, pointing to the dimly glowing chuck of ice beside the throne. The silhouette of a man could almost be made out from where they stood.

"Yes," a new voice answered and Hades seemed to appear out of nowhere, Ares at his side. He was smiling at Anthria, his handsome face as pale as death and as smooth as stone. "It's been a while Anthria."

"The royal family. Did you kill them?"

"You can hardly call a hapless whelp and his mistresses and bastard sons a royal family, but no, I didn't. When we failed to bring him Farah as an act of our goodwill he fled from the palace and we just took it by force," Hades told his former servant. "Probably should have done that since the beginning."

"The boy has the blade," Ares said suddenly, his dark eyes bearing down on the Prince with such strength that he nearly buckled under the weight.

"It matters not, Ares," Hades answered and lifted a hand. "We'll have what we're after soon enough." He snapped his fingers. Fire glowed inside his palm, spreading across to his fingertips and dripping onto the floor like blood.

The soldiers rose up, numerous and bigger than ever before. Ares smirked proudly, crossing his arms over his chest, as the inhuman howls and shrieks of the dead men filled the room.

"Where is Capetraion?" Anthria demanded, her eyes narrowed and her fingers tightening over her sword.

"Right here," the old man answered as he walked calmly over to Hades' side, his cane clanking against the marble. "I'm pleased to say that this time you won't have an advantage."

The Prince failed to see how Anthria had any sort of advantage against Capetraion. He had his magic and she her rage and anger and sheer determination to make him pay for all that he had done to her. In the Prince's mind, they were evenly matched.

But this was not about being evenly matched. Hades and Ares wanted to win.

Hades lifted his still glowing hand and lowered it to Capetraion's balding head. The fire smoldered along his skin, following the course of his varicose veins, and turning Capetraion's papery skin into the small color of the fire. But Capetraion was not in pain. In fact, he smiled as he lifted his hand, the fire from Hades settling against his palm before fading completely into his skin.

A ripple of power washed over the entire room. Farah gave an audible gasp and hunched her shoulders against it defensively, her eyes narrowed and her grip on her bow tightening.

"It will do you no good," Anthria warned Capetraion as he backed away from Hades, his body still glowing in the powerful light. She withdrew the sword on her back and pointed it at him, her face deadly calm.

"Kill me, will you, Anthria?" Capetraion asked, chuckling under his breath.

"Yes," Anthria said without any sort of hesitation. "I will."

"I've had enough of this talking!" Ares snapped impatiently. He looked over at his uncle. "Let us attack them now!"

"Oh, very well," Hades answered, sounding bored. He motioned towards Anthria, the Prince, and Farah and the creatures began moving.

Hades seated himself purposely in the cushions of the throne, smirking when an impatient Ares moved to join. They were gods, after all. They truly had no reason to join in a fight. It would be too easy a war.

And even Ares, who was impatient for world domination, didn't want the fight to end too easily. He was the God of War, after all. He thrived on the fighting and killing of people. Of battles and raging wars.

Anthria saw only Capetraion and she rushed right at him, leaving the Prince and Farah in the dust. They quickly separated, dividing the room in half and taking down what enemies they could. They both knew that Anthria would not be of help to them as long as Capetraion breathed.

The old man raised his staff and a hot wave of power hit Anthria dead in the stomach. She went crashing into the floor, pain blinding her for a moment. Then she was back on her feet, gasping for breath, and looking toward where Hades sat.

"Surprised?" Capetraion demanded cheekily. He lifted his staff once more and Anthria only just managed to dodge a long, hot streak of power.

It hit the ground inches away from her, burning away the marble and sending a line of steam out into the air. Anthria pushed herself to her feet, clutching her swords, and gauging her opponent.

_I will make him pay. Nothing will stop me._

She called forth the image of her son—her smiling, pretty son—and was filled with purpose. Crying out in rage, she rushed at Capetraion, refusing to allow herself to be knocked back as a wave of hot power hit her dead in the stomach.

Ares and Hades watched with interest. Hades nodded to Anthria, knowing very well that she would not stop until she had reached Capetraion and extracted her long sought after revenge against him.

And he knew that it would be one interesting fight. It had been too long since he had last had something to look forward to. Capetraion and Anthria were completely evenly matched and he was keen to see who would claim victory.

One way or another it mattered not, of course, but he leaned forward in his throne all the same, preparing to enjoy the show.

"I thought I'd make it a fair fight," Hades called to her and grinned.

* * *

**story notes**

(1) in one retelling of the origins of the Trojan War, Zeus actually planned it because found that the mortals few too numerous for him to control. The Trojan War was a way of weeding out the undesirables. Zeus purposely saw to it that Eris wasn't invited to the grand wedding, knowing she would take offense to it and act as a sort of catalyst to the beginning of the war (i.e. the golden apple in the _Decision of Paris_ myth). Just an interesting little factoid.

**reviews**

**AnzPuffyHair:** actually, yes, that is a funny image. It made me giggle. And wildly appropriate for the way I've painted Artemis and Apollo. It's kinda like a little reprieve from all the angst! and war! and death! and serious business! that goes on in this story. Kratos is wonderful, violent fluke in the "gods can't die rule".

**Black-Phoenix10:** hehe, thanks you! We've finally come to the climax!

**Sakure123:** lol, yeah. That prince he's such a smooth operator. But I can't believe Farah never once asked "hey, by the way mysterious, attractive Prince that saves my ass all the time, what _is_ your name?" I mean, there's the humorous and awkward conversation in _Two Thrones_ while they're riding the elevator up to fight the Vizier and instead of asking about colors and fruits, she could've asked about his name. It's what I would've done!

**Voration:** yay! I hope you continue to enjoy this story! w00t

**Next Chapter Preview**

_Blood ran freely down the side of his face and the Prince felt the stingy copper of it on his lips. He focused entirely on the huge enemy before him, parrying and blocking every one of his moves as he was forced farther and farther away from his goal._

_"Behind you!" Farah shouted suddenly, turning to watch the Prince fight with his undead foe. "Watch your back!" _

_But it was already too late. The Prince attempted to wheel around to face the second opponent, but doing too much of a turn would leave him venerable. He was caught between a rock and a hard place. _

_The sword came up hard at his side, positioned at his right. The Prince had hardly the time to flash to all the times he had narrowly avoided death before and he knew that he wasn't going to be so lucky this time—_


	21. Zeus Awakening

**Disclaimer: **disclaims

**spoilers:** any and all

**Author's Notes:** jeez guys, I'm sorry. I really don't have much of an excuse, except things just kept on happening to me with work and school and the like. The bright side is we're near the end here and that means you won't have to put up with my horridably late updates anymore. That's a good thing, right?

* * *

/Chapter Twenty: Zeus Awakening/  
**"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:  
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'  
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay  
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,  
The lone and level sands stretch far away."  
**-"Ozymandias" Percy Bysshe Shelley

* * *

Even as her back was hitting the ground, Anthria was pushing herself up to her feet. She threw her elbows down and braced herself against the marble as sharp pain shot right up into the base of her neck. 

But she wouldn't be stopped. She _couldn't_ be stopped. This was Capetraion. This was her endless life's goal. To meet with this man and to take his life in retribution for what had been stolen from her.

To make Capetraion bleed, to make him bleed just as her son, her mother and her father bled. For everything that she had lost in one bitter day. Nothing would keep her from this goal, nothing would stop her.

Her whole body screaming in protest, Anthria pushed herself to her feet. She held her swords in front of her feet defensively, crouching down low on the floor, braced for whatever onslaught of magick Capetraion thought to throw at her.

He stood in front of the throne, blocking the path to Zeus with his own body. His staff glowed with its recent power boost and Capetraion was grinning, his wrinkled face twisted and crooked as his gnarled finger tips played with the jewel embedded in the staff.

"Come, come, Anthria," Capetraion chastised lightly, smirking at her. "Is this really all you can do?"

She knew better than to answer. Anthria never took her eyes off Capetraion's form as she circled him, keeping her body braced for whatever would come at her.

All around her, Hades's minions swarmed, but they seemed to ignore Anthria. Their goal was to keep Farah and the Prince from coming anywhere near the throne, because the Prince wielded the Blade of Athena and Hades knew what it meant.

"Anthria!" the Prince shouted at her as he lifted his sword to block the heavy swing of a scaly arm. He planted his foot in the creature's stomach and kicked it away. "Anthria!"

Anthria paid him no mind. Her whole being was focused on Capetraion and the way he breathed. Images flashed in her mind, horrible images, of her family slaughtered and dead.

What it had felt like _burying_ them, each one a grave, while she remained breathing and alive. All she could see was the image, of her digging into the dirt for her family to rest, and suddenly her vision was clouded with red.

_Capetraion is alive. He is alive! He cannot be alive!_

A battle cry tore up her throat as she rushed at him, her swords slicing through the air. Instantly, Capetraion lifted his staff to send her flying with another spark of energy. But Anthria planted her feet firmly into the marble and refused to be moved.

Hissing pain out in a breath, she pushed herself through the magick force and charged Capetraion. She swung herself sharply to the left to avoid being blasted once more, refusing to allow Capetraion out of her sight.

Nothing would stop her from this endeavor. Her whole life since the moment she had found her family dead and Capetraion to blame had led her up to this point. And no god or debt was going to stop her from extracting her rightful vengeance.

This was for her son! For all the innocence Capetraion had smothered with his callous, damnable hands. She was more powerful than Capetraion for the sheer fact that she carried that will, that iron will, with her.

"What do you hope to accomplish?" Capetraion demanded, still confident in his own power and his own assured victory.

Again, it was pointless to answer him so Anthria did not. She pushed right through the hot wave of magick he lashed at her and brought her sword down onto his head. Capetraion blocked her with his staff, the sparks shooting off when wood and steel meet. Anthria brought her second sword hard up his left side.

But Capetraion was ready for it. He spun his staff down at a twisting angle and blocked her sword. Hot light burst from the top of his staff and Anthria was blinded for a moment. A strong leg hit her stomach and had her sprawling into the ground once more.

"Anthria," Hades warned from his comfortable position in his seat. "You can do better than that, can't you? You're _my_ warrior, after all."

Wordlessly, she ignored him and got back to her feet.

"If you continue to get up, I will simply push you down," Capetraion warned her, twirling his staff in the air, a line of power following him where he went.

"You do not understand what power is," she hissed at him and braced herself.

This time Capetraion came after her. Anthria lifted her swords to defend herself and the force of Capetraion clash with her had them both sliding along the marble floor. Anthria gritted her teeth and leaned hard, drowning out Capetraion with all her might.

"I understand perfectly," Capetraion hissed at her and pushed her away. Anthria circled him once more, Capetraion still keeping his cheeky smile on his face.

"Should we help him?" Ares wanted to know.

With a bored wave of his hand, Hades yawned. "Ares, dear nephew, did I need say that I wanted to make this a fair fight?"

"Yes, but if she _wins_—"

"Then she will have to go through us," Hades finished for him and glanced up at his nephew as he stood by the armrest of the throne. "You're not afraid to fight _her_, are you?"

"Her?" Ares demanded on a snort. "Of course not. It's not like she can kill us."

"Then sit back and enjoy the show."

"You fight for weaklings, Anthria," Capetraion told her as they circled one another, the space between them steadily getting wider, preparing them for the next clash that was fast coming. "People who do not deserve to live in this world."

Rage burned clearly in Anthria's eyes and the small smile on Capetraion's face showed that he knew that he had hit a vulnerable spot in Anthria's armor.

"As long as there is oxygen in these lungs, Capetraion," Anthria snapped at him, keeping her body braced for attack. "I will hunt you down and kill you."

"How will you avenge them, Anthria? How will killing me ease your own guilt?" Capetraion smiled cruelly when he saw his barb hit his mark. "That band of fools that you call family… nothing will ever bring them back to you."

"Silence!" Anthria hissed out, her voice breaking in rage.

"They were nothing more than a squealing babe, a weeping old woman, and senile old man!" Capetraion's laugh boomed across the floor as Anthria winced, the first sign of weakness she had shown since entering Sparta.

"I will see your blood!" she managed, fighting back down the wells of pain that floated up in her.

"And your husband," Capetraion went on and grinned fully when he saw her stop and stare. "Oh, yes. I knew your husband, didn't I tell you? A foolish man. He died in battle and I found him among the slain, begging me to take him back to his beautiful wife and brave son! I left him there to rot."

"Do not speak of him," Anthria whispered slowly, tears nearly blinding her.

"I gave him no pyre. I gave him no coins. I left him for buzzard food. Perhaps even now he wonders the banks of the Styx, waiting for his family." Capetraion arched his back as Anthria's fingers tightened over her weapons.

"You shall pay!" Anthria hissed and threw all caution to the wind, blindly charging the old, damned man before her. "I will tear you to _pieces_!"

"You flatter yourself," Capetraion shot back. "I am the one who understands true power, Anthria. Not you. Never you. You are a weak woman, bound to the earth, bound to your hate and lust for revenge. I am beyond you."

"You are as mortal as I once was," Anthria shot back as his staff and her blades locked in a heated dual. "Even more so, Capetraion. And that is why you have betrayed everyone who thought to give you a hand. Who thought to help you."

"Come, than, little girl, come see if you can avenge the people you have foolishly wed yourself to," Capetraion hissed and his eyes flared with power.

Recognizing the attack, Anthria leaped away and the power went crashing hard into the marble beside her. Her blades swung in perfect coordination with her body as she brought herself right back up to Capetraion.

The old man had strength, Anthria would give him that. It was rare to find someone who could block her so easily. But Capetraion had agreed to be Hades' servant and Anthria knew very well the gifts the god of death promised.

But she was done talking with him. She was ready to kill him and nothing would stop her. This moment had been her dream, her life's goal, upon finding her family in decay and ruin.

"Have you nothing to say to me, Anthria?" Capetraion goaded. He had watched her train so long ago. He knew that talking distracted her, as did her rage. "Nothing to say to me, your old friend?"

She refused to open her mouth. Her whole body was on fire from her rage, but she would not allow Capetraion to distract her from her goal. She would see him dead.

With a small cry of battle, she thrust her left sword forward. Capetraion swatted it away with a small streak of magick. He caught her second sword with his hand, blood seeping out from his palm and spilling onto the marble floor.

Anthria watched as the wound healed itself and felt a growl working its way up her throat. She yanked her sword free of him as Capetraion lifted his palm and showed her the skin that rapidly healed itself.

"A gift from my Lord Hades," Capetraion told her with unholy glee, his eyes shining light bright jewels as the wound completely disappeared from him.

"That will not be enough to save you," she warned him. She was tempted to glance over at Hades, but her eyes refused to leave Capetraion's form. "No matter how many times you heal yourself, I shall be there to cut you down."

"Not if I cut you down first," Capetraion shot back and rushed forward.

Their weapons clashed and Anthria felt the zing of magick once more traveling up her arm. She shook it off and pressed her foot into his stomach, kicking him away from her. Capetraion leaped to his feet instantly, still grinning.

Whatever he gave her though, Anthria was braced to take.

--&--

"_Anthria_!" the Prince shouted, well aware that he was the last thing on the older woman's mind. She didn't even acknowledge his cry, merely kept pacing toward Capetraion. If the situation hadn't been so dire the Prince would have been tempted to bang his head against the marble floor.

But the situation _was_ dire.

They were being flooded by Hades' horde of undead soldiers. And only the Prince and Farah were around to fight them. Anthria had abandoned them long ago to fight her personal battle against the old man.

"You alright!?" he cried, crouching low on his heels and rolling away from the deadly swing of a trident. "Farah!?"

An arrow zipped over his head, landing in a soldier's chest. Hot, white light exploded from the tip and burned the creature to dust.

The Prince leapt to his feet and looked over at Farah, who stood back a ways, panting slightly from her the effort it took to summon the power Artemis had placed in the bow and fire an arrow.

"Keep your eyes on your own back!" she snapped and wheeled around, another arrow already notched and flying toward a soldier that came up fast behind her.

With no other choice, the Prince turned back to his own foes.

There were just so many of them. The Prince knew that Hades had implanted the order in them to focus their attacks on him. He was the one who carried the Blade of Athena on his back, the only threat that stood in the way of stopping Hades' plot to take over the world.

All he had to do was reach the golden ice at the back of the throne room. He'd slice it with the Blade of Athena and free Zeus, allowing everything to fix itself afterwards.

The problem was that the throne never seemed so far away and Hades and Ares had both placed themselves protectively in front of Zeus' frozen form. The Prince would have to go through them to get to the king of the gods, and he knew very well he stood no chance against them.

If they had Anthria to help…

Angrily, the Prince shook his head, leaning hard onto his left arm, letting a heavy sword swing by his head.

Anthria would be of no help at all. The Prince could easily see that. She was concerned now only with the death and maiming of Capetraion. He and Farah would have to figure out a way to deal with Zeus on their own.

"Anthria, we need you!" Farah shouted vainly, crouching on her heels to avoid being decapitated, rolling hard on her back to avoid a second attack, notching an arrow as she did so. She let it rip the moment she was in a crouched position again, pushing her herself back to her feet.

He wanted to rush to her side and aid her, but the Prince knew that nothing would help any of them unless he managed to make his way to Zeus and free the god from his entrapment. He could only pray that Farah could hold out long enough.

Lunging forward, the Prince brought his sword down hard against the trident of a undead soldier. The soldier attempted to shake him off, but the Prince was ready. He pushed his feet right off the ground, using the soldier's chest to flip himself backwards. He landed behind the second soldier who came up against his side and slammed his sword into the base of his spine.

With a small grunt of effort, the Prince wedged his shoulder against the soldier he had impaled and pushed him forward with all the strength he could muster. The soldier's heavy body collapsed into the soldier in front of him and they both went tumbling to the ground.

_I have to reach Zeus. I have to_, the Prince thought desperately, making a mad run for the throne and the golden ice behind it.

Something hard hit the side of his face and the Prince hissed out in pain, clamping a hand over the blood that bloomed against the side of his cheek. The soldier fell onto him and had the Prince backing up, gripping his sword with both hands.

Blood ran freely down the side of his face and the Prince felt the stingy copper of it on his lips. He focused entirely on the huge enemy before him, parrying and blocking every one of his moves as he was forced farther and farther away from his goal.

"Behind you!" Farah shouted suddenly, turning to watch the Prince fight with his undead foe. "Watch your back!"

But it was already too late. The Prince attempted to wheel around to face the second opponent, but doing too much of a turn would leave him venerable. He was caught between a rock and a hard place.

The sword came up hard at his side, positioned at his right. The Prince had a flash to all the times he had narrowly avoided death before and he knew that he wasn't going to be so lucky this time—

Farah's arrows lodged right into the soldier's helmet, a powerful burst of light destroying both undead men. The Prince was momentarily blinded and dropped to his knees, shaking off the weakness. As he stood, the soldiers fluttered to the ground as a pile of ashes.

"Farah!" he shouted in horror, only able to watch as she turned to face the enemy she had been distracted while saving his life.

It seemed to be happening in slow motion. The Prince's feet were racing across the floor, but he couldn't seem to reach her fast enough. Farah's yelp of alarm pierced the air and the soldier moved forward.

A sword found its way into Farah's stomach. Gasping for breath, Farah hunched over it, gripping the blade that was splattered with her blood. She dropped to her knees, sucking in a hard breath.

"_Farah!"_ the Prince shouted.

Anthria stopped fighting Capetraion and turned to watch Farah crumpled onto the floor, the soldier looming above her, blood dripping down his sword. Anthria's eyes grew wide and Capetraion's laugh boomed across the hall.

"It seems you've made the wrong choice _again_, Anthria," he teased her.

_No! NO! I won't lose her again!_

Without thinking about what he was doing, the Prince yanked out the Dagger of Time. He pressed down hard on the silver button on its hilt, his eyes never leaving Farah's dead form as she bleed onto the marble floor.

"Work," he muttered, pressing down even hard. "_Work_."

Suddenly, he felt it. The hard tug of the invisible strings around him. Time was pulling him back, rewinding and obeying the will of the Dagger of Time. All around him, people were moving. Anthria retracted her steps, Capetraion right beside her. Soldiers he had slain got to their feet and began moving backwards.

The Prince fought against the strings pulling at him. He struggled to stay where he was, by Farah's side. He would too far away to do her any good and he struggled against moving. He _had_ to stay. Had to.

Everything seemed to hover in the air for an instant, suspended by time itself. The Prince watched it, almost fascinated by something he had never thought he'd witness again.

Then, without warning, the world started up again. It was like someone released a breath and everything started living. Life filled limbs that had been working backwards, rewinding themselves.

…_Farah!_

The Prince lunged, knocking Farah away to parry the blade that came for her. Farah gasped in surprise, almost as if she knew that she had just cheated death. She hastily notched an arrow and fired it at her enemy.

"What—" Farah began.

But another soldier came at the Prince and knocked into him hard. He went crashing across the room, right into Farah. The Prince's head cracked hard against the marble floor just beside Farah's hip as they both hit the ground.

Stars burst in the Prince's eyes and he couldn't move with the pain that rippled throughout his entire body. He gasped in a breath and forced his eyes open, watching as Farah lunged forward.

She braced her bow across her forehead, defending them both from the soldier that attempted to bring his sword down against them. Farah gritted her teeth as the steel chipped away at the wood, her body braced protectively across the Prince's.

Strength seemed to have abandoned him and the Prince remembered what it had felt like the first couple of times he used the Sands. There hadn't been much in the Dagger to begin with and it was almost as if he had had to substitute his own energies for what the Dagger had needed to do his bidding.

With the last bit of his strength, the Prince pushed himself forward and forced his sword past the soldier's heavy armor and into his stomach. Farah took the opportunity to notch an arrow and impale it into his throat.

"Prince!?" Farah cried in worry as the Prince collapsed hard against the floor, his vision blackening. "Prince!"

But all he did was moan. Knowing very well that the Prince would not be able to get up for a while, Farah dragged the Blade of Athena from the sheath on his back. The Prince mumbled something but Farah ignored him, standing.

Instantly the soldiers were upon her. Farah took one step backwards but was forced to stop when she felt the hard grip of a hand on her ankle. She looked down into the Prince's eyes as he looked up at her.

"Anthria," he managed to rasp, coughing up blood.

Farah nodded, clutching the sword to her chest. She prayed… Anthria was their only hope now. There was no way for Farah to even get _near_ the throne. But Anthria was already mostly there…

"Anthria!" Farah shouted and tossed the Blade with all her might, sending it flying over their heads. "Please!" she called when she heard the hard clang of it hitting the ground.

Then she crouched down, notching as a bow and taking a steady aim, putting all her hope in a single woman.

--&--

Anthria heard it as well and turned to look at the glittering gold as it slid along the floor, only a few feet away from her. It was almost mocking her. It was the symbol of the debt and the reason why she was here.

And yet Capetraion…

Capetraion tripped her hard, his sandals connected with her ankles. Anthria grunted as she went down, the back of her head slapping against the floor. Pain etched its way into her chest and held tight.

For a moment all she could do was stare up at the ceiling, blinking in confusion. Capetraion was right before her. She needed to get back up, she needed to fight and kill him for her family.

Her son, her mother, her father and her husband, this man had killed them all. He had to pay.

"_One day you're going to save people like me,"_ the little girl had said moments before her own death, looking right into Anthria's eyes and seeing something there that had made her give a sad, hollow smile.

"_One day…"_

She got to her feet, her legs shaking with pain. She glared at Capetraion, whipping the sweat from her brow, tasting blood on her lips. Her chiton was plastered to her body, soaked from the blood and sweat she had already poured out.

"I must do this for my son," she told herself fiercely, ignoring the sword. "I must avenge my—"

And suddenly, it was almost like he was _there_, her son, her darling little boy, smiling innocently at her. Anthria's whole body convulsed against the hallucination, fighting it off.

But she couldn't. Her little son stood right in front of her, blocking Capetraion from her view. His dark hair was just as wild as she remembered it, his body just as lean and tiny and perfect. His smile was great and wide and so full of the love she could barely remember.

This was her little boy… her Arion…

"_Mama, I love you,"_ he told her in a whisper-soft voice, his lips still curved as he held out a hand to her. _"I love you and you have to save the world."_

It took only a moment for her body to rebel against the very idea. She nearly looked over her son's head to Capetraion, but she could not look away from the tiny perfection smiling before her.

If she didn't kill Capetraion then who would avenge him?

"_Mama, please…"_ Arion said, his smile still bright. _"I know you can."_

Tears began to pour down her face as she nodded shakily to the ghost image of her son. She turned from him and Capetraion and rushed toward the sword that lay on the ground, dropping her own as she raced.

Anthria snatched it up even as she slid along the floor in a hundred eight-degree turn. Her feet carried her right back to her position, but her son was long gone. She didn't hesitate though, remembering his words.

The Blade of Athena was pointed directly at Capetraion's chest and the old man's eyes widened in alarm as she lunged at him. His staff and power was nothing compare to what rippled in the Blade and he knew that Anthria could easily kill him with it.

Instead of killing though, Anthria grabbed his shoulder and roughly tossed him to the ground, heading straight toward the glowing ice that imprisoned Zeus.

_This is how I will avenge my son…_

"No! Stop her, you fool!" Hades cried as Ares began racing after Anthria.

She was already too far ahead of them both. All she could see was her son's smiling face and Zeus trapped in a tomb of ice. She hefted the sword high above her head, a small battle cry emitting from her lips.

"Anthria!" Hades shouted.

A zing raced up her arm as the Blade of Athena connected with the huge, powerful prison of ice. Anthria hissed in pain as golden fire laced up her arm, peeling away the flesh there.

In the very back of her mind, Anthria could hear her son whispering to her and it made her smile. Pain swarmed her and she dropped to her knees, gripping the hilt of the sword with both hands as fire ate away at the flesh on her arm.

"_I'm so proud of you, Mama. I'm so proud."

* * *

_

**Story Notes**

none this chapter except, see! The Dagger did too have a use! XD

**reviews  
**  
**AznPuffyHair: **hehe, that's probably my fault. Sorry about that. I think my fight scenes tend to get too convulated. That's the one thing about my writing I really hate, the fighting. And since I usually tend to write action/adventure stories, there's a lot of fighitng. Sad face!

**Black-Phoenix10:** I always loved how when the Prince and Farah weren't together, the Prince spent all his time worrying what kind of trouble Farah could get into without His Manly Manliness to protect her when she wasn't the one who tended to attract all the Sand Monsters. It's the little things like that that make you happy. XD

**Sakura123:** ah, well, Capetrion knew Anthria back when she was a wife and mother, but they were never love. Anthria is still very much in love with her dead husband. I know couldn't talk and fight at the same time. Points for the Prince and Anthria for being able to do that.

**Specter Von Baren:** maybe. Kratos's world of Greecian gods does seem to differ slightly from our knowledge of the myths, so it could a bit like an alternative universe. I think they did the same kind of thing in that game _Shadow of Rome. _If you've ever played. For all intensively purposes, in our game, there is no way on earth to kill a god.

**Ruingaraf:** I guess it should be picking up, seeing that we're so close to the end and everything.

**thegriffin88:** why thank you! I love compliments. I never thought that my slightly unhealthy obbession with Rome and Greece would ever come in handy, but there you go!

**Next Chapter Preview**

_Pain swarmed Anthria. Fire ate away at the flesh of her arm, lapping right up to the top of her elbow. Her whole body seemed to shake with the power of it._

_But she gritted her teeth and kept on pushing her sword into the ice. She had to reach Zeus, had to free him, or everything would be meaningless. No matter what pain she felt or what weakness chipped into her soul, she would not stop this._

_"Don't!" Hades shouted, but there was so much power rushing out from beneath her sword that even the god of Death's voice was lost over the rush of it._

_Gritting her teeth, feeling her skin melt away from her bones, Anthria pushed her whole body onto the hilt of the sword. She could feel the steady crack of the ice as she thrust her sword in deeper._

Zeus… awaken… Zeus…

_The sand creatures had fallen quiet and still since Anthria had begun her freeing of Zeus. It was if they were unable to move once the very beginnings of Zeus' awesome power filled the room._

_She didn't dare allow herself thoughts about the Prince or Farah. Her main focus had to be her task. She trusted both of them enough to survive until she was done. They had already survived this much._

_And then she felt it. A wave of power pulsed right beneath her fingertips. Anthria gasped and pushed all her might onto the sword, pressing down into the power. The ice cracked around her like glass, shards of it raining down on her shoulders._

_Inside her head a voice said, _"I thank you, Anthria."


	22. Unfulfilled Wishes

**Disclaimer:** I disclaim

**Spoilers:** the game

**Author's Notes:** I don't think there's anyway to say just how sorry I am at the lateness of this chapter. All I can say is that a combination of work and school kept this from being put up till now. I do have one bright note to add, after this chapter we only have one left and an epilogue, and I'll be leaving at the end of July for Disney so… expect very fast updates in July! I want to have this finished before I go brunching with Mickey and the gang.

* * *

_/Chapter Twenty-One: Unfulfilled Wishes/_

**"Poor chap, he always loved larking  
And now he's dead  
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,  
They said.  
****Oh, no no no, it was too cold always  
(Still the dead one lay moaning)  
I was much too far out all my life  
And not waving but drowning"  
**-"Not Waving But Drowning", Stevie Smith

* * *

Pain swarmed Anthria. Fire ate away at the flesh of her arm, lapping right up to the top of her elbow. Her whole body seemed to shake with the power of it.

But she gritted her teeth and kept on pushing her sword into the ice. She had to reach Zeus, had to free him, or everything would be meaningless. No matter what pain she felt or what weakness chipped into her soul, she would not stop this.

"Don't!" Hades shouted, but there was so much power rushing out from beneath her sword that even the god of Death's voice was lost over the whip of it.

Grinding her teeth, feeling her skin melt away from her bones, Anthria pushed her whole body onto the hilt of the sword. She could feel the steady crack of the ice as she thrust her sword in deeper.

_Zeus… awaken… Zeus…_

Ares' creatures had fallen quiet and still since Anthria had begun her freeing of Zeus. It was as if they were unable to move once the very beginnings of Zeus' awesome power filled the room.

She didn't dare allow herself thoughts about the Prince or Farah. Her main focus had to be her task. She trusted both of them enough to survive until she was done. They had already survived this much.

And then she felt it. A wave of power pulsed right beneath her fingertips. Anthria gasped and pushed all her might onto the sword, pressing down into the power. The ice cracked around her like glass, shards of it raining down on her shoulders.

Inside her head a voice said, _"I thank you, Anthria."_

A wave of power shot out and Anthria was thrown backwards, the sword gone from her hands, melted into the ice. She cursed and gripped her arm, the skin all but charred off and gone, nothing more than the white fragments of her bones.

A golden light rushed over the entire hall, over everyone. The horde of undead soldiers growled once before they dissipated into dust.

The golden light bounced along the floor, touching the Prince's forehead and healing the wound the still bled there. Farah's scratches were gone as well, the long lines of red that had decorated her body disappearing right back into her skin.

Shakily, the Prince sat up, one hand gripping his healed head. Farah had her hands on his shoulders, helping him remain in an upright position, even though they both felt rejuvenated and completely fine.

"What's going on?" Farah wondered and the Prince had no answer.

Hades and Ares backed into a corner, wincing when the golden light touched them. Ares dropped onto his rump immediately, his face taking on a child's pout, knowing very well his father would not be pleased to see him.

"Well," Hades said, still sounding bored. He glanced down at his nephew. "We did our best, didn't we?"

"Oh shut up," Ares muttered sourly, glaring over at his uncle. "I never should have listened to you! Father is going to be _so_ angry when he gets out. I—I don't want to image what the punishment will be."

"You are such a spoiled child," Hades told him almost absently, smirking a little at the paleness that came over his nephew. "Perhaps this endeavor was doomed to fail from the very start."

"Oh, shove it up your—"

Suddenly another wave of power surrounded them and completely cut off the two bickering gods. Hades and Ares both turned their heads toward the golden ice that continued to emit a powerful light.

"Wonderful," Hades muttered under his breath, still sounding bored and rather put out with the whole thing. "Could he possible do that any faster?"

"I—I have to flee!" Capetraion whispered in reverent horror. He turned hard on his heel, forgetting about Anthria who lay motionless on the ground and his god liege-lord. He hurried past Hades and Ares.

Hades reached out suddenly and caught the hem of his robe and tugged, hard. "Where do you think you're going?" He demanded as the old man was forced back toward him. "You'll stay and take your punishment like the rest of us."

"You can say that!" Capetraion shouted in horror, completely unfazed by the fact that he was yelling at the god of death. His eyes never left the black of his. "He'll smite me!"

"It's not as bad as all that," Ares said, his chin on his hand, glowering over at his father's still form. "At least you won't have to put up with him for centuries on end. You'll dead and done."

"I don't want to die!" Capetraion shrieked in horror and yanked his hem free, turning his back on them both. "I don't want to die! I don't want Zeus Almighty to kill me!"

"Then I'll kill you," Hades said and lifted his hand. Hot power streamed from his fingertips and leapt forward. It struck Capetraion just as the old man was about to pass over Anthria.

Capetraion howled in pain and horror, his hands reaching back to claw at the skin twisting on his back. He dropped to his knees, mere feet away from Anthria's still form. His whole body convulsed as he attempted to put out the fire that burned up his veins. Capetraion's scream of agony pierced the air and made Farah and the Prince wince.

The man finally collapsed onto the ground, now dead. His body twitched one last time and then he was completely still, his eyes staring blankly out at Anthria.

Her lips bared in a snarl of rage, she weakly lifted her head, looking over to where Hades and Ares both watched Capetraion burn up with their power.

"He was mine to kill," she hissed out softly, pain making her dizzy and disoriented. She could barely keep herself afloat from the pain and there was a nearly unbearable sensation from where the skin had melted off from her bone.

"Consider it a final act of revenge," Hades told her with a casual shrug, looking over to where his brother worked to free himself. "You did ruin my plans of world domination, you know."

Anthria did not answer as her head hit the marble floor and she passed out.

And then suddenly, someone stepped out from the hot circle of light. He was a big man, strapping, with rippling muscles barely covered by his short chiton. The whole earth seemed to shake with each of his moments. He looked a bit like Ares, and his face had similar features as Hades. A long, white beard skimmed the bottom of his neck and his hair seemed to be both white and gold.

"_Well, well,"_ the god drawled in a voice that seemed to be both booming and soft. It shook the entire palace off its hinges. _"What do we have here?"_

Farah hissed out in pain, throwing herself over the Prince's eyes as he yelped in agony. Staring the god before them hurt too much. It was like looking at a sun only ten feet away. Hot tears ran down Farah's face and she felt the wetness from the Prince's own on his cheeks.

_"Ah, forgive me. I had forgotten in my joy at being free,"(_1) the king of the gods said and almost at once the blinding light died down. It seemed to flow right into his skin, where it was dimmed. "Is this better, young ones?"

His voice was certainly less powerful now. Farah tentatively lifted her head and looked toward Zeus Almighty, blinking when he seemed to be a slightly taller model of his son, Ares.

"Hello, Father," Ares said sullenly.

Zeus ignored them coolly and walked forward. Just as he reached Farah and the Prince, Artemis and Apollo burst into. Artemis almost immediately scooped down and picked her bow up off the floor, ignoring Farah's small cry of protest. Apollo was grinning ear from ear.

"It seems that I was mistaken," he said dramatically, bowing to both Farah and the Prince as they forced themselves into upright positions. "I had put not enough trust in your very determined will. Forgive this humble knave. Apollo, god of sun and gold, bows down to you."

"Father," Artemis said proudly, her face turning into a sharp grin. She plucked the string of her bow with a gleeful grin and motioned to Hades and Ares. "May I?"

Without a sound, Zeus held up his hand and Artemis fell silent. Nodding to his two children, Zeus turned back to his son and brother. With hands in a military posture behind his back, he approached them.

"When I'm through with you," he told them softly, dangerously, bending down to look into their eyes. "You'll wish yourselves mortal so you can at least _die_ from the pain. Feel fortunate that I cannot kill you myself."

"I'm hardly afraid of you, brother," Hades pointed out casually. "You best try that with your son over here. He's keener to bow before you."

"If the Fates had no decreed you necessary for balance…" Zeus trailed off, his hands clenching into angry fits. "Well, no matter. You'll suffer enough."

"Father," Ares began, almost with a sheepish smile. "Can't I—"

"No."

"We'll be walking as mortals for a hundred years before _he'll_ forgive us," Ares hissed over at Hades, his voice sour with the thought.

With a wave of his hand, Apollo came forward and grabbed both Ares and Hades by their collars. With a gleeful shout of joy, Artemis danced her way over them, bending over in the same way her father had.

"When I'm through with _you_ two you'll never want to look at a woman again," she told them with an unholy happiness at the thought.

"You'll make my wife unhappy," Hades pointed out and only received Artemis' shrug as an answer.

"I daresay she'll live."

"Take them away," Zeus ordered and Apollo nodded. With a small glow of light both he, Hades and Ares, and Artemis disappeared.

The king of the gods approached Anthria as she lay gasping on the floor, not daring to look at the damage that had been done to her arm. She knew that all she had left now was the white fragments of her bones, but the pain was too much to force herself to look.

She couldn't stop the small cry of pain that escaped her lips as Zeus closed his big hand over her bones, her nerves burned away but somehow her body still feeling the grip of Zeus's powerful hand on her. He could completely snap her arm in half, if he so wished and Anthria nearly shuddered with the knowledge.

Instead, he said, kindly, "No this arm won't do for a warrior of such caliber, will it?"

Hot, searing pain swarmed Anthria and she hissed out in agony. She twisted her head, the only part of her she could seem to move, and tried to yank her arm free of the god's grasp. But she was held tight and Zeus continued his work as if she was doing nothing to attempt to stop him.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Anthria felt her arm being healed. She felt the muscle tissue piece itself together, felt the skin covering it. Electricity ran up her arm, jolting her nerves and her veins back into action, forcing the blood to start moving.

Suddenly, her arm twitched. She felt the blood rush back into her destroyed arm. She dared to glance at it and saw that it was perfectly normal, if only a bit discolored from the rest of her.

Not quite sure she understood what had happened to her, Anthria sat up, her other hand instantly cupping her elbow. She rubbed the skin, noting it felt smoother than it had before she had freed Zeus.

So she had a new arm now? Zeus was indeed kind to warriors, but she supposed it was to be expected. The Prince and Farah would receive compensation as well. That was how Zeus worked. Gifts to those who pleased him and pain to those who didn't.

The mighty god's attention was now completely on Farah and the Prince and he walked to them, smiling gently at them. Even so, his massive amount of power made both Farah and the Prince uneasy.

"I thank you," Zeus told them easily, his smile big and wide and nearly fatherly on his face. "It is not often that I need to rely on humans and it is a humbling experience every time. There will be no war between Greece and the Asia Minor."

The Prince released a breath of relief and Zeus gave a small chuckle.

"Artemis," he called suddenly, looking off to his side.

The blonde goddess of the hunt appeared quickly at his side, looking a little put off at being interrupted from whatever she had been doing. "What is it father?" she asked casually, plucking at her bowstring.

"Give your bow and your arrows to the princess," Zeus commanded her and had Farah blinking and straightening her back.

"Father!" Artemis shouted, thunderstruck at such a demand, her fingers tightening over her beloved hunting bow. "No!"

"Please, that isn't nec—" Farah stopped herself quickly when Zeus sent her a look. She was reminded that he was the King of the Gods, not a kindly old man. The look in his eyes when she had dared to speak up had spoken volumes.

Zeus was in charge and she was never to forget that.

"Artemis, this woman saved your life and brought balance back to Greece," Zeus told his daughter and lifted a brow. "Is my own daughter so discourteous that she would forget the debts she owes?"

Artemis groaned and tossed her bow to Farah, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting moodily up at her father. Zeus merely lifted a brow and Artemis turned in a huff, disappearing with a small gust of air.

"She will have another, finer bow made by sunset," Zeus said, mostly to himself. "You needn't worry yourself."

Then Zeus went back to Anthria, approached the woman as she dragged herself to her feet, flexing the biceps of her arms, touching the newly constructed skin, feeling its smoothness and its freshness. It was so displaced with her other limbs, which had nicks and cuts from so many things.

"Athena! Come to me!" Zeus commanded, his voice booming once more.

The goddess of wisdom heeded her father's call because what choice did she have but to? Zeus was the King, after all, and those that did not obey him ended up in a painful state, even members of his family. Athena was not quick to forget her mother(2).

But there was a look in Athena's eyes that said she knew what her father would be asking her and she was not happy about it. But such precognition was not surprising. Athena was the goddess of wisdom, after all.

"Forgive this woman her transgressions," Zeus ordered, his eyes soft as he regarded his daughter. "Lift your anger from her. What she has done has earned her entrance to the Elysian Fields that you seem so determined to keep her out of."

Athena's chin came up and she clapped the butt of her long cane against the floor once. Her gray eyes were blazing powerful as she met her father's eyes evenly. "I cannot," she said. "For even if her actions here saved her from her actions at my temple, she still murdered a young child."

"You would disobey me?" Zeus asked, deadly soft. But even so his eyes were still soft as he looked at his daughter. She was well known to be his fondest child. It was whispered that Athena could get away with anything.

And watching Athena hold her chin high despite the anger in her father's eyes said that indeed, Zeus gave Athena more leeway than he gave anyone else. Athena had always been known as the favorite of her father, that he spoiled her rotten, and the world would have had a nasty god on their hands had Athena not been so wise.

Except that Athena did not look wise. She looked enraged. Her cheeks puffed out in anger, her eyes narrowed, and her fingers tightened over her staff. Though her eyes were not on Anthria, she could feel the rage in them, the rage directed at her.

"I would, Father. For this." Athena thrust her chin outward, her eyes blazing with righteous fury. "For this I would have forgiven the murder of my priestess. But she has also murdered a child, an innocent child, and _that_ is something I cannot forgive. Not now, not ever."

"Remain by my side, Athena," Zeus commanded her, his eyes narrowed with blistering rage. "You act foolishly in front of the mortals to whom you owe your very existence. You disappoint me."

"I cannot ask for forgiveness, Father," Athena pointed out, her face calming, her grip on her lance loosening. "This is my nature."

The King of the Gods did not answer her. Instead, he turned and walked toward Anthria, who pushed herself onto her elbows. The god did not seem upset that Anthria did not kneel. He merely lifted a brow.

"Anthria of Sparta, former servant of my brother Hades, I will grant one boon for you to make up for the selfishness and arrogance of my daughter." Zeus cast a look toward his daughter as Athena turned her head.

Anthria was silent as stone, focusing on something beyond Zeus. Her eyes were distant, and for the first time, truly pained. As if there was some deep, sharp dagger digging right into her breast.

"Well," Zeus said after Anthria remained silent for a very long time. "What will you ask of me, Anthria?"

The woman pushed herself to her feet, gritting her teeth against the pain that swarmed her legs. The power that she had consumed upon freeing Zeus still moved through her and her body was not meant to handle such a strong amount of force.

And yet, this was nothing.

"My Lord Zeus," Anthria said then, forcing herself down onto one knee. "I have but one wish. I have always had but one wish, through all these years."

"Name it and it shall be done."

"I wish for my right to enter the afterlife," Anthria told him with steely resolve. "Be it Tartarus or the Elysian Fields."

"Anthria!" the Prince protested instantly, Farah sounding in right behind him. He steadied himself better on his feet and he and Farah both made their way over the woman.

"You can't be serious!" Farah started instantly, her face flushing with angry.

Zeus held up a hand to silence them both. His gaze never left Anthria as they stared at one another. "This is what you truly wish?"

"Yes. I have lived well passed my time," Anthria answered. "I am older than any mortal has a right to be. And I have been dead since the day my family was murdered."

"Hmm…" Zeus brought two fingers to his chin in consideration.

Farah and the Prince exchanged a look of horror. Could Zeus truly be considering granting Anthria's request? It didn't seem possible that Anthria, as strong as she was, would willingly bow out, give up, and just die.

Yet there Anthria remained. On one knee, head bowed, awaiting Zeus's agreement to allow her to die.

Then, at long last, Zeus said, "I cannot."

Anthria's head shot up, her eyes wide and pained, something so deeply broken in them it was nearly heartbreaking. "You would deny me this? My only request?"

"I am not in the habit of killing such noble warriors," Zeus answered and then lowered his hand, his eyes softening. "And, even if I were to make an exception in this case, I still could not. Hades has not taken his gift from you, even now, and death is not something I can override him in."

"So, Hades has damned me to walk on this earth for all time?" Anthria whispered in horror, pushing herself to her feet, her face paler than it had ever been before. "I am to walk like a plague?"

"I will speak to my brother," Zeus told her, his voice steely and sure. "And I promise you, Anthria, I _shall_ convince him to take this gift from you. At least, that way, you may progress as humans are meant to."

Instead of giving him thanks, Anthria merely turned her head away, her whole body giving one long tremble before it was tightly controlled. When she looked up at Zeus, she was once again the woman who had fought in Hades' name, and who had lived for far too long.

"I thank you, My Lord Zeus," Anthria said to him with cool diligence.

"Patience, Anthria." Zeus looked over at his daughter and sent her a look, a stern, fatherly look. "You _will_ show your proper thanks to these mortals, Athena. I will hear nothing farther from you until you have done so."

"Father." Athena bowed her head in answer.

With a blinding burst of light, Zeus disappeared. Once his presence was gone it was as if everyone in the room could suddenly breathe easier. His power no longer seemed to fill every space the room, suffocating everything it touched.

Athena walked toward Farah and the Prince, not looking over at Anthria as she remained staring at the spot where Zeus had been.

"Warriors," Athena said, her voice once more regal and perfectly controlled. She extended a hand toward them both. "I offer you this as just payment for your deeds in the name of the gods of Olympus."

Out of nowhere formed the Blade of Athena in her hand. It shimmered in with a small sparkle, forming particle by particle in Athena's hand, each particle appearing in rapid succession.

Once the Blade was complete, Athena handed out over to the Prince. The Prince closed his hand over it, testing its weight. One of his dark eyebrows rose when he saw that it did not send a magical zing up his arm.

"It lacks the power it once held," Athena answered, guessing the Prince's thoughts. "But, should those in your land doubt your story, you will find it has enough power to give your story credence."

"Thank you," the Prince as reverently as he could, well used to the hands of the immortals. His fingers tightened over the Blade of Athena and for a moment, just a moment, he felt the magical answer of its power.

"And take this," Anthria said and held out her palm once more. A small ball of fire formed in her hand, hovering above her skin, glowing hot white. The flame licked the air for a moment before settling onto the goddess's palm.

When the light died Athena held a golden amulet, craved with a lightening bolt held in the talons of an owl. The goddess passed the beautifully crafted object over to Farah.

"The medallion will be known to all as a gift from the gods for your aid. In Greece your story will be told. You will be heroes. This is so the world outside this place will know of it, as well." Athena nodded to them, clicking her staff once against the marble floor. "This is the last gift from the goddess."

Farah bowed her head, not sure what to say as she clasped the gift to her breast.

"However, should this not suffice for those in your realm, you will find the gods will be there to aid you," Athena answered just as an owl swooped in low and landed on her shoulder. "And now I take my leave of you."

"Wait! What about—" Farah cut herself off as she looked over at Anthria.

Athena walked passed the blonde woman, her body already dissolving into nothingness. She glanced over her shoulder at Anthria, who raised her head and meet her eyes without a trace of forgiveness.

"I will speak to Hades also," Athena told her and was gone without a word.

Tentatively, Farah and the Prince stepped toward Anthria, who had still said nothing, even with relative peace and silence returning to the palace. Farah looked over that Prince and he nodded, touching her hand briefly.

"Anthria?" he asked he stepped toward her. "Anthria, are you—"

"We are in Sparta," Anthria said suddenly, cutting him off. She glanced over at him. "I have not been in Sparta for a… long time."

Anthria turned and walked toward them, picking up her swords as she passed them on the marble floor. Wordlessly she sheathed them and stood in front of Farah and the Prince, stiff and erect.

"I think I would like to visit my home."

* * *

**Story Notes**

**reviews**

**Black Phoenix of the Cirque:** . sorry about the super late update, after you specifically asked for a quick one. I can promise you that the last two updates will be coming very fast.

**bluetinkerbell****:** I just love comebacks, and Anthria's angst is just so fun! Haha, I'm mean.

**AznPuffyHair:** oh, maybe I didn't make that clear. The Prince used what little sands the Dagger had left it in. That's why he was so cautious to use it before, since he didn't know how much sand that Dagger had left, and there's no clear way to replenish the sands. He basically used up the very last of the sands saving Farah, so the dagger is virtually useless until they can get back to the Hourglass in India. XP Hope that clears some things up.

**Ruingaraf:** thank for pointing it out, but the thing I was going for in that line is that Anthria is no longer your standard "Greek" woman. Her beliefs are twisted by her time with Hades and the Olympian gods (whom I just assume know all about oxygen and breathing). All other normal Greeks will never make those sorts of references, because Anthria really isn't part of her culture anymore. Thank you!

**Sakura123:** don't feel bad for the late review at all. Look how late my chapters are! Gah. Yes, Anthria is frustrating woman. She was always meant to be selfish in the regard, because she's spent all her life under service to Hades dreaming of gaining revenge on Capetraion. All other things pretty much are secondary to her in the face of her ultimate enemy. Which is why Anthria doesn't get to kill him. Hades takes that away from her. XD And I can't count how many times I had Farah die on me in Sands of Time. As much as I felt that Two Thrones fell sort of the mark, it was nice not to have to worry about getting Farah killed.

**Little Miss Aussie Sunshine:** thanks! I hope you continue in the enjoy the story, and make it to the end. My major is history (and I plan to specialize in ancient cultures) so I tend to put a lot of history into all my fics. Can't help it! And yes, I'm still at college. It's going alright. Lots of studying, though, and I'm a lazy soul. XD

**Next Chapter Preview**

_It looked so peaceful, situated between the beautiful green hills. The home, a squat, open house, was fenced off by a short stone wall. In the distance loomed the silhouette of the barn and animal pens. A tiny garden grew in front of the house, the plants overgrown now and reaching far over the stone wall._

_Anthria moved slowly, as if her legs had failed her. She came around the stone wall, looking over at the weeds that had uprooted the dirt path leading to the porch of her home._

_"Did no one come to take care of the home?" Anthria demanded softly, mostly to herself. "But we and the village had been such friends, I thought they would…"_

_"Anthria—" the Prince began and Anthria shook her head softly._

_"I'm alright," Anthria said suddenly, glancing over at them, her eyes still unreadable. "It was foolish of me not to realize that this place would be abandoned. The people would stay away because of what had happened here."_

_Before Farah or the Prince could say anything to her, Anthria moved past the stone fence. The front yard of her home was large and she had spent a number of hours during the day in it, planting her garden and hanging out her laundry, watching her son as he played war just outside the wall._

_Carefully, she stepped into the overgrown weeds, kicking them away gently with her feet. A clothing line still hung in the garden, all but gone with age._

_"I buried them here," Anthria said suddenly, pushing aside more weeds. "Beside what they brought home of my husband."_


	23. The Long Road Home

**Disclaimer:** does it's job

**Spoilers:** everything

**Author's Notes:** look at that! The update is on time. What strange, alternate universe have we stepped into folks? Anyway, this is the last "chapter" of the story. All we have next is an epilogue, and we're done. And I'm happy! And sad… It's just how these things go. Expect the epilogue up Friday night before I'm gone for a week. On a side note, how awesome does the new game look? Very awesome.

* * *

_/Chapter Twenty-Two: The Long Road Home/_

**Do not go gentle into that good night,  
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.  
****Though wise men at their end know dark is right,  
Because their words had forked no lightning they  
Do not go gentle into that good night."  
**-"Do Not Go Gentle Into that Good Night", Dylan Thomas

* * *

"You do not have to come with me," Anthria told them as they moved through Sparta's abandoned streets. "I understand that you must get home."

"We've gone this far already, Anthria," Farah answered, sharing a look with the prince. "We want to see this through to the end."

"Very well," Anthria answered with a small shrug of her shoulders. "My farm is a three day walk from here."

No one questioned Anthria on her sudden urge to return to her home. Though it had been, until just a few moments ago, the last place Anthria might have ever ventured to, Farah and the Prince did not ask any explanation of her.

Mostly, they were worried. What would Anthria do now? Her debt had been repaid and Capetraion, the man she had lusted to kill for countless years, was dead. She was more of a ghost than she had ever been before, aimless, without a single purpose or reason to live.

But Anthria would live. And live. Until Hades willed it otherwise and since Hades knew Anthria's greatest wish now that Capetraion was dead was to finally rest Farah and the Prince knew that Anthria would live for a long time yet.

"Would you like to come to Persia?" the Prince asked suddenly, increasing his step to come stand beside the older woman. "My father will have a place for you, I'm sure."

"It is a kind offer," Anthria told him not unkindly but still shook her head. "But I cannot imagine living anywhere else save Greece. I shall remain here."

"So will you not go to India, either?" Farah asked as she joined them. When Anthria shook her head Farah frowned, asking, "But then, what will you do?"

"I will… live, I suppose." She glanced over at Farah and then the Prince. A self-mocking smile touched her lip. "If you're worried about my survival, spare yourself. After all, I have been gifted immortality by my lord Hades, haven't I?"

"But—"

"And if I find myself in need of money, I can simply hire myself out as a mercenary," Anthria pointed out, cutting off Farah's protest. "I've survived many years, Farah. I suspect I shall survive many more."

She sounded so sad when she said it that Farah fell back to mourn for her in silence. The Prince moved to comfort her, but she merely shook her head, not wishing to draw Anthria's attention to the breaking of her heart.

They fell into a comfortable silence, Anthria leading the way. They passed empty farmlands and dry fields, never leaving a single dirt path. Anthria explained as dusk settled that the farmers had built the road to connect all their farms to the commerce of Sparta.

"My father helped them build this road," she told them and said no more.

When night feel, they made a meager camp. Anthria noticed an abandoned farm a mile from what had become their campsite and managed to scavenge meager blankets against the cold.

"There should be deer near here," Anthria told them as the Prince finished setting a campfire. "I'll hunt for dinner."

"Be careful," Farah said softly from her spot beside the fire, a blanket shielding her from the cold, wet earth she sat on.

Even though the warning was not necessary for Anthria she inclined her to Farah in a way of thanks before unsheathing a sword and disappearing into the darkened hills that surrounded them.

When she was gone, the Prince sat down beside her. Farah's eyes were furrowed in deep concentration, staring at the fire. He sighed and rested back on his palms, looking at the slender curve of Farah's neck.

"You're worried about her," he said at last when she seemed intent on staring at the fire. He gave her a half smile when she glanced over at him. "Anthria."

"Things would be so much easier if she would just come with us," Farah protested instantly, frowning, curling her knees under her chin.

"You know you can't make her do anything she doesn't want to do," he pointed out reasonably, smiling wildly at the thought. "Anthria wouldn't listen to her own gods if they truly desired her to do something she did not wish to do."

"You don't seem concerned for her at all," Farah retorted haughtily, whipping her neck around to glare at him.

"I am," the Prince answered, hunching his shoulders defensively. "But Anthria can take care of herself. She won't do anything stupid, you know."

"How can we possibly know that?" Farah asked, still glaring at him, her fingers tightening over her knees. "We cannot even begin to guess what Anthria must be thinking. _Everything_ has been taken from her."

"What would you have me do?" the Prince wanted to know, suddenly sounding weary. "I honestly have no idea of my own."

"I don't know," Farah answered, frustrated. "I just wish there was _something_ we could do for her. Anything."

"Farah…"

"What? I—she's help us a lot, hasn't she? I don't want her… to have to be alone after all that's happened." Farah gnawed on her lip gently, looking away. "But I don't know what I should do. What I can do."

Wordlessly, the Prince leaned in. Farah blinked at him in surprise, but he quickly cupped her cheek, bringing her face closer to his. Farah gave a breathy sigh as their lips meet, her face lifting up gently to weave into his hair.

As gently as he could, the Prince urged Farah into his arms, wrapping his free hand around her waist. She tasted sweet, and she always had. And she didn't shyly hold herself back from kissing him either. Though the Prince knew she was a little inexperienced—being kept in her palace—she was more the eager to learn whatever he taught her.

She traced his lips with her tongue, giggling at the little rumble that answered in his chest. The Prince titled the angle of their kiss, biting softly down on the tender of her bottom lip, causing her to gasp a little and give him access to exactly what he wanted.

They ended up curled on the blanket, Farah gripping the cloth on his arm, the Prince running his fingers down her bare arms.

He broke away because he needed to breathe, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from hers. His thumb stroked her cheek, rubbing the delicate bones beneath the skin.

"You're trying to distract me," she accused and then broke out into another small giggle when she realized that he had done more than succeed.

It was such a pleasure to watch her smile like that. There hadn't been any occasion for it in Azad and the fact that it was a brand new experience was enough to make his heart burn with the knowledge.

Farah sighed his name, looking into his eyes, watching the emotions, not remembering them, but understanding them.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, recognizing that the heat that had been between them had been cooled by his reflection of the past. "I—"

Then Farah leaned up, capturing his bottom lip with her teeth. The Prince's fingers clenched into the blanket at her sides as Farah drew back and looked into his eyes, cupping his cheeks.

"It's ridiculous, I know," she told him softly, as if she was almost nervous to say it, which was completely out of character for Farah. "But I—well I—I _do_ love you. And it's not that I _think_ I know that—"

This time he cut her off, sealing their mouths together, pressing her firmly against his side. And then he stroked that loose strand of hair back, smiling down at her. And he told her what he should have when he had had the chance before.

"I don't care how long we've known each other, Farah," he told her, pressing his mouth lightly against hers before breaking away. "I love _you_."

They kissed against, a little more fiercely this time, driven on by the new spurt of emotion that swarmed them. But their hands grew tired, their bodies finally catching up with their mind.

The Prince cradled Farah's head against his shoulders as she closed her eyes and drifted off into a deep sleep. He was content to look at her for a few moments more, to simply lap up the very sight of her.

But his eyes grew heavy soon enough and he settled them both down on the blanket spread out beneath them, Farah gathered up in his arms. He rested his head against hers and allowed himself to drift off to sleep.

That was how Anthria found them, unconscious on a small blanket beside the fire. She carried her sword in one hand and her kill in the other.

She dumped the deer beside the fire, reaching down into the small rucksack she had put together in the abandoned farm and pulled at a sharpening knife. Looking back over at Farah, Anthria was actually pleased the young princess had fallen asleep since she doubted Farah would have enjoyed watching the cleaning of the carcass.

Anthria hadn't hunted the deer down and killed it because she was especially hungry. She wasn't and she knew that she wouldn't get hungry for a while yet. It was another odd side effect of her _gift_ from Hades. On the rare occasion when she felt the need to fill her stomach, the smallest amount of berries would sustain her.

The last thing Anthria would need was the meat of a deer. But she understood that the Prince and Farah would need it. The adrenaline that still pumped their veins kept the hunger at bay, but she understood that when they awoke they would be starving.

Hunting had also allowed her time to herself. Anthria understood that Farah and the Prince were merely concerned for her and that they considered her a friend, but everything inside Anthria was so swirled up and distorted that she had needed those long moments in the darkness to herself.

True enough she no closer to peace than she had been, but the hunting exercise had allowed her to gain release to her pent-up emotions.

Settling down beside the fire with the deer, Anthria began to clean and cut the meat, cooking it as she went. She could almost feel the call of home in her ears, and she dreaded it almost as much as she yearned it.

_Home… how long has it been since I returned home…?_

Not since…

Her fingers clenched angrily on her knife. She slowly forced them to loosen their grip and closed her eyes. There was nothing she could do, about anything. All she could do now was go home, answer it's call.

Even if she was to never know peace, she would at least see her home one last time.

--&--

As dawn broke across the sky Farah and the Prince finished up the deer meat Anthria had prepared for them, both of them noticing that Anthria took nothing of it and had not appeared to have eaten it earlier.

"I'm not hungry," Anthria supplied as she packed up their supplies, joined by Farah as she polished off the last of her meat.

Anthria was silent once they started walking again, deep in her own thoughts. She looked so perturbed by what went on in the inner working of her mind that neither Farah nor the Prince dared question her on them.

It fell into a rather easy pattern of walking. Without gods and wars egging them on everything seemed so much easier, for Farah and the Prince at least. Anthria seemed to get heavier with each step.

When night fell, they rested, but only until Anthria saw the break of dawn. She seemed unable to stop herself from continuing onward and Farah and the Prince were force to keep up.

Three days had been an accurate prediction of travel for them.

"What is it?" Farah asked as Anthria came to a sudden halt.

"This is…" Anthria shook her head and the wistful tone left her voice. She glanced over at them and pointed her head further up the dirt path they traveled. "I remember playing on this road as a child. It used to be full of merchants from Sparta and they would sometimes toss me treats."

"This is your home? Truly?" the Prince demanded, absurdly excited to see the area where Anthria had grown up.

The dirt path was surrounded by rolling hills on each side, healthy, full grass spurting softly from the ground. The sky was blue and clear above them and it seemed too tranquil and pleasant for a woman such as Anthria.

"Yes, there… is a village just up this road," Anthria told them and her shoulders stiffened. "My farm is just past that… do you mind if we… do not go through the village?"

Farah and the Prince exchanged looks.

"That's fine," the Prince said at length and Anthria nodded to them, quickly leading them off the path and into the rolling hills.

"So, this is your family farm?" Farah asked, trying to picture a young Anthria growing up with horses and livestock and having do chores. Picturing Anthria young was hard enough, but doing such trivial and ordinary things impossible.

"Well, no. This farmhouse is my husband's," Anthria answered. "Ours was just outside the village, his was farther away. But this became my home much easier than my parents' farmhouse did. My father and mother came to love it as well. When my father's legs failed him, my husband was kind enough to allow them to live with us."

"You loved them," the Prince said softly, not sure what else he could say. Everything about Anthria seemed so tragic even as it seemed so impossibly strong.

"Yes. So very much."

In silence they arrived at Anthria's homestead. And Farah saw why Anthria's mother and father come to love the farmhouse that had belonged to Anthria's husband.

It looked so peaceful, situated between the beautiful green hills. The home, a squat, open house, was fenced off by a short stone wall. In the distance loomed the silhouette of the barn and animal pens. A tiny garden grew in front of the house, the plants overgrown now and reaching far over the stone wall.

Anthria moved slowly, as if her legs had failed her. She came around the stone wall, looking over at the weeds that had uprooted the dirt path leading to the porch of her home.

"Did no one come to take care of the house?" Anthria demanded softly, mostly to herself. "But we and the village had been such friends, I thought they would…"

"Anthria—" the Prince began and Anthria shook her head softly.

"I'm alright," Anthria said suddenly, glancing over at them, her eyes still unreadable. "It was foolish of me not to realize that this place would be abandoned. The people would stay away because of what had happened here."

Before Farah or the Prince could say anything to her, Anthria moved past the stone fence. The front yard of her home was large and she had spent a number of hours during the day in it, planting her garden and hanging out her laundry, watching her son as he played war just outside the wall.

Carefully, she stepped into the overgrown weeds, kicking them away gently with her feet. A clothing line still hung in the garden, all but gone with age.

"I buried them here," Anthria said suddenly, pushing aside more weeds. "Beside what they brought home of my husband(1)."

The weeds parted to reveal the four graves, grass and roots entwining along them. They were just simple stones, adorned with no names, but Anthria knew each one by heart and knew which one carried the body of her husband and her son and her mother and her father.

She bent down on one knee and touched the gravestone that belonged to her son. _Momma's home,_ she thought softly, nearly smiling at the cold stone. _I'm sorry I stayed away for so long._

"I have not been home since I buried them," Anthria said softly, glancing over at the other gravestones that decorated the once charming garden.

"Anthria," Farah called, approaching her, a feeling of dread settling in her stomach. "Let's go. There's nothing here for you now. Come with us to Persia, or India. Please leave this behind."

"We would welcome you," the Prince pointed out, knowing exactly what Farah was feeling. There was something that lay in wait for them in this spot. "What can you gain by living in the past?"

"It's funny," Anthria went on as if she hadn't heard them. "This place was meant to remain the same for so long… yet it changes long before I do. I am the same. I will always be the same, while this place changes…"

"Anthria, please!" Farah cried and moved forward to grip her shoulder.

"I need to be here," was all Anthria said and stepped out of Farah's grip, moving toward what had once been her hearth and home.

Age had deteriorated much of its major walls. Cracks and dents lined the wood and stone that had been used to make it, yet Anthria could imagine so perfectly what it had once looked like. The smells and sounds and tastes of her former home.

Her legs took her home. She felt a dull buzzing in her ear, like something whispering there, whispering to her, but she ignored it and continued on. She could imagine her mother puttering around the kitchen, Anthria's son chasing her around, begging for a treat that her mother knew so well how to make.

_I miss you all so much_, she thought, allowing the grief of missing them to pour in her for the first time in so long.

She stepped into the open, dirt area just before the porch of her home, staring up at the slanted, slab roof, imaging watching her husband working to fix leaks and cracks in them during his last vacation home.

It was as if all strength left her. She felt the blood rushing to her feet, heard the roaring in her ears, but she was already so far gone that wasn't truly aware of it anymore. She was staring at her house, trapped in the past, seeing only the good, seeing what it had been before.

Suddenly, all Anthria could see was the happy. It was as if everything except those tender moments had been erased. Her soul sighed in ecstasy as her body shook with tiredness.

There was a swish of a chiton and Anthria blinked, looking down at the tiny, ghostly girl that walked out of her home. Her face was young and innocent and her chiton was as white as snow.

"Welcome, Anthria," the high priestess of Athena said, smiling as she held out her arms toward the woman. "I've been waiting for you."

"Hey!" the Prince shouted, racing toward Anthria with Farah at his side as Anthria's knees buckled and she all but collapsed into the little girl's arm.

"Stop! What are you doing to her!?" Farah demanded as she notched an arrow.

But suddenly they came to a crashing halt. An invisible barrier bared their path to Anthria. The Prince crashed his arm against, trying to break throw as Farah notched an arrow and let it fly.

"We can't get through!" the Prince hissed, rapping his arm against the shield, sweat rolling down the side of his face.

"Hey! Hey! Anthria!" Farah called.

Neither of the two people in the barrier paid them any mind. The young girl was stroking Anthria's hair as the older woman settled her head against her breast, all but collapsed into the dirt.

"Hades cannot touch this place," the girl said at last, her voice soft and soothing, as were her fingers through Anthria's hair. "That is why… here you will find peace. I will take you to them."

"For countless years," Anthria whispered weakly, closing her eyes against the weakness that swarmed her. "I sought my own death… only to find now that perhaps I had never really lived."

"You lived," the girl answered, lowering Anthria's weary head to the dirt. "But you forgot how to so long ago that it is as if you never had."

"Perhaps," she agreed.

"Rest well, Anthria."

And then she saw them, walking toward her. Not in body, no, but their spirits calling out to her, ready to take her home after they had been separated for so long. Anthria's face, nearly slack, smiled as she reached to them with her soul.

_Her son… his hand caught in the strong grip of his father._

"I see…" Anthria murmured, her right hand twitching. "I see them…"

_"Mama, I missed you," her little boy said, reaching out toward her with his free hand. "I've been so lonely without you."_

_"Welcome back, my love," her husband said, his handsome face curled into a smile. "You sure know how to keep a man waiting, don't you?"_

"I missed you all, so much," Anthria murmured to them, closing her eyes, picturing them in front of her, their hands outreaching for her.

_"I know, love, I know. Let's go home."_

_"C'mon, Mama."_

She took their hands, gripping them both with her soul. She felt the gentle tug of it and allowed herself too willingly to taken. She expelled one last breath, her entire body relaxing with the joy of feeling her husband again, of holding her baby.

There was another tug on her soul, stronger this time, and she moved with it, into their open arms after so long of being away from them.

And then Anthria of Sparta was no more.

Farah dropped to her knees, pressing a hand to mouth, tears rolling down her cheeks. The Prince gave a loud curse and pressed his fist against the shield once more.

"You cannot do this to her!" he hissed at the child, who finally took note of them and glanced at them over her shoulder.

"This is what she wanted," the girl pointed out.

"But you killed her!" Farah protested, jumping to her feet, her face wet and angry.

"She was dead long before this day," the girl pointed out reasonable. Her eyes drifted to something past them. "Isn't that right, my lord Hades?"

The Prince and Farah wheeled around quickly as the god of Death approached, a small smile on his face as his eyes never left the dead body of his former servant. In his hands he loosely held a bundle of flowers.

"I suppose I can admit that I could have collected her soul the day her family died," Hades said mostly to the girl. "It hardly matters now. But she used to be such a sweet girl, with such dreams."

"Why are you here?" the Prince snapped, leaping in front of Farah, sword drawn, as she notched an arrow and took aim.

"Peace, young prince," Hades said with a small laugh, holding a hand up in nonaggression. "I've been properly chastised." He held out the small bundle of flowers. "I came to pay my respects. My wife was rather fond of her and she's already annoyed with my little scheme as it is."

"Sheath your sword, he speaks the truth," the girl said gently, smiling once at the Prince before looking back at Hades. "I'm taking her soul to the Elysian Fields to be with her family. She has done what I asked of her."

"Athena isn't going to be pleased." Hades reclined on one hip and grinned. "Good."

"Prince, Princess," the girl said to Farah and the Prince. "You have done so much for Greece, so much for us all, that we will forever be in your debt. But now you must return home to where you belong."

"Indeed, you have a story do tell, do you not?" Hades asked with a smirk and waved his hand in the air. "Be on your way."

"What about—"

"She's dead, trust me I know," Hades cut in on the Prince's protest. "What more can you do for her? You put her on the right path—thank you very much, by the way—and you've given her soul the freedom to be with her family."

"We can't just leave her like this!" Farah shouted, her fingers clenching into angry fists as she fought off more tears.

"She left you," Hades pointed out.

"I will take care of her," the girl told them, her voice gentle and understanding. "Please, return home, to where you belong. You must live now, in the way that Anthria once dreamed of with her family."

"Go on. Greece is no place for happy princes and princesses," Hades answered. "I've no more aims for Anthria. She'll have her rest. This I promise."

"Farah…" the Prince said softly, looking toward the woman he loved. She turned quickly toward him, reaching out for his hand.

"Let's—let's go home," she said softly, a single tear running down her cheek. "An—Anthria needed to go home and now we need to go home, too."

"She's at peace, Farah," the Prince told her quietly, wiping away the tear that rolled down her cheek. "That's why she waned to come here. Because she knew she would find the peace she sought."

"I know. And that is why I can leave here and not look back," Farah answered. "Because I know that she is happy where she is. She is with those she loves best."

"Then come on."

The Prince tugged her hand and Farah allowed him to lead her away from the god and the spirit and the corpse. Farah didn't not look back as she said, but kept looking forward. And the Prince, for all the looking back he usually did, did not look back this time either.

"How touching," Hades drawled, watching them leave.

"You're jealous because you shall never know it," the girl pointed out with calm, soothing smile, stroking one hand down Anthria's hair.

"Hardly," Hades answered with a little less confidence than his voice normally did. He stepped past the barrier to dump his flowers at Anthria's feet. "And what goes on between myself and my wife is none your concern(2)."

"Your wife was fond of Anthria?"

"Oddly enough, she was."

A little hum worked its way up the girl's throat as she looked down at Anthria still, peaceful face. She smiled strangely at the older woman and touched her thumb to her forehead.

"I suppose she's earned it," Hades said, frowning.

Then, with a sweep of air, the god was gone as was the spirit, leaving only the body of Anthria of Sparta.

* * *

**Story Notes:**

(1) as you problem know, burial was not a norm of Grecian society. The Greeks would burn the bodies of the dead on a pyre and later scatter their ashes into the air. It was an act of letting the souls go. The reason Anthria doesn't burn her family simply because she's weak. She won't allow herself to move on. The graves are there to remind her that she can't ever forgive and that she can't be happy ever again. It's just another flaw for Anthria.

(2) in case you didn't know, Hades's wife is Persephone, and the story goes that Hades saw her one day playing in her mother's (Demeter) garden and fell instantly in love with, so much so that he stole her away and tricked her into eating food in his land, which means that she has to remain in his realm. Zeus interceded and deemed that Persephone only had to remain in the Underworld for six months, and could spend the other six with her mother. The myths leave Persephone's feelings pretty vague, but it's believed it wasn't willing.

**reviews**

**x-Tangled-Up-In-You-x****:** only the epilogue now! It's about as a joyful as it is sad, huh? It's been such a ride and I can't wait until the end comes out.

**Black-Pheonix10:** aw, thanks! And look, this chapter hardly took any time to come out! Wee!

**anon****:** I'd have to agree with you, the entire series is so awesome! Nothing but respect for Ubisoft. They make some great games.

**Littleminnie****:** I started playing the games late, too, so I understand completely. PoP didn't get the coverage it should have. And I love the Brits. XP It's just a silly thing that I do some times.

**Angel Sorano:** thank you! And enjoy the end!

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_THE END!_


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